


The Common Bird Affair

by JordanUlysses



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: (significant words as tattoos), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Mentioned suicide, Minor Character Death, Prequel, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, mentioned torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21846067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordanUlysses/pseuds/JordanUlysses
Summary: The end of 1910, Paris, a party at the British embassy: newly recruited agent of the Secret Service Bureau Alexander Waverly meets a handsome stranger he instantly feels drawn to. But, he is in Paris to assist the French police with a group of British criminals and not to get distracted …A sort of prequel/soulmate AU to The Man from UNCLE.
Relationships: Alexander Waverly/Original Female Character, Alexander Waverly/Victor Marton
Kudos: 10





	1. 29. – 31.12.1910

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siri/gifts).



> The first chapter of this story was part of an Advent calendar for my dearest Siri at the end of 2018. Now, a year later, it evolved into this story.  
> There are 13 chapters in total and I will update every Sunday.  
> My dear friend [Bee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dibee/pseuds/Beezarre) checked the French phrases for me, thank you! Any other mistakes – be it spelling/grammar or concerning the time period – are mine. Thank you for reading!
> 
> [Also, I listened to this wonderful song on repeat while writing the story: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8u1wTT6E6bU]

Alexander was glad to have found a quiet corner. Walking into this party he had felt an unusual nervousness, which had only slowly dissipated. Maybe it was not such a mystery _ –  _ he had arrived in Paris two hours ago, had to rush to his hotel, try to get the crinkles out of his suit and then hurry to the British Embassy where the party was held. Additionally, this was his first official job for the Secret Service Bureau and while tonight was only about getting acquainted with the atmosphere and to get to know the ambassador and his staff, the need to prove himself compromised his inner calm. And to top it all off, there was a French government official attending whom Alexander found incredibly handsome. But, it would not do to get distracted by animal needs, and so he had retreated into the corner of another room to nurse his drink. He could probably also leave. He had talked to the British ambassador and his wife, as well as to a few other people, but instead of leaving and catching up on sleep he lingered.

“You must be fresh from the isle,” a dark voice suddenly chuckled at his side and it took all he had not to jump at it. He knew before he glanced at the figure that it was him, the French government official whom he had heard being introduced as Monsieur Marton.

“Is it that obvious?” he drawled, looking back at the room.

“No,” Marton admitted, smile still on his lips. “I made inquiries about you. A new face, that’s always interesting.”

“And is your curiosity satisfied?”

“Far from it,” another chuckle and Alexander felt goose bumps appearing on his skin. “I always find it fascinating when someone leaves behind his home and family to work in another country.”

“Isn’t that easy to answer? Curiosity? The need to prove oneself? Maybe there is no family?”

“I do not believe that the human condition, the human soul is easy at all. The answer might present itself quickly, but to discover all the reasons that lead to it, to dissect and truly understand another human being, that is a form of art.”

“How curious,” Alexander said. “You are right, I think, but there is one factor you have overlooked for the process of getting your answer.”

“Which is?”

“Trust,” Alexander shrugged and his companion laughed delighted.

“I did not think I would get my answers now. I’m only laying the foundation.”

“That still requires trust – that I will be worthy of such work and effort.”

“You are not?” Marton reached out and touched his arm for a fleeting moment. “Now, you do not have to answer that. My instinct tells me you are, and I can always rely on that.”

“Then I won’t be held accountable if you should be disappointed in the end.”

“We’ll see,” Marton smirked.

“Well,” Alexander cleared his throat. “I should get going. It has been –“

“– a delight?” Marton finished as Alexander hesitated for a second.

“Quite so,” Alexander offered his hand and they shook.

He felt being watched all the way out of the room.

The next day he felt hungover, even though he had only had two glasses of wine. His office was in the British embassy and he found it dusty and cramped. But it would do, he would be out and about most of the time anyway. A brisk walk to his first appointment cleared his head. It was with an officer of the Deuxième Bureau, Sous-lieutenant Girard, in a small café not far from the Seine. It was just to establish contact and for the Deuxième Bureau to get a first impression of him. After some polite conversation Girard told him that a meeting with his superior was scheduled for New Year’s Day to talk about the British criminals that had been arrested in Paris a week ago.

Alexander managed not to show his annoyance at the delay. After all, he was here on the request of the French and he would have liked to celebrate the New Year with his family. But if the French wanted to establish their working relationship in this way, it was not his place to complain. Besides, he knew that the fact that he had been sent – a newly recruited agent with barely any experience in this field, working for a recently founded agency – could be seen as an insult as well.

After that he had two appointments with British informants and that kept him busy until late evening. It seemed there was a certain unrest in the intelligence community following the arrest – rumours without much substance, nebulous warnings, and while all that would be easy to dismiss, Alexander’s superiors felt the matter substantial enough to accede to the French’s request and send him across the canal.

He came back late to his hotel, where the concierge handed him a letter.

_To celebrate the New Year alone brings bad luck. Thus, you are cordially invited – and I will be able to study you further._

– _Victor_

There was not a doubt in his mind about who had written the letter, even though Marton had not introduced himself with his first name.

When he had climbed the stairs to his room he threw the envelope in the trash. He had not planned to spend tomorrow night on his own. There was another party at the British Embassy, with live music and fireworks, that he meant to go to. Brushing his teeth he regained some of his inner calm – Marton was right, he probably would have worked late and then gone to bed before the New Year started. It was unsettling to be so transparent to a stranger, but Alexander hoped that it was just a lucky guess, a cheeky line.

And of course he would not go, he thought as he pulled the blankets over himself. He was in Paris to work, not to get distracted by handsome Frenchmen. And there was Margaret to consider as well, waiting for him back in London. He was decided: he would not go.

The address was in a very fancy district of Paris, which would have been called posh in England. Alexander slowly climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and nearly turned around after he rang the doorbell, not sure his suit and tie were suitable for this neighbourhood. But there were already steps coming towards the door. Marton, in an expensive looking tailcoat, opened, his face lightening up when he saw Alexander.

“Alexander, you came!”

Alexander cleared his throat, offering his hand.

“Please, we are in Paris,” Marton came close and before Alexander knew what was happening kissed his cheeks. “Come in!”

He followed a bit hesitant, not quite sure what was waiting for him. Marton led the way down the corridor, into a parlour at the very end. It was quite cosy, a fire burning merrily and a few people scattered around the room. On the first glance he found them all beautiful, dressed exquisitely. He stopped inside the door, feeling utterly out of place.

“Alexander?” Marton turned to him.

“I …,” he spoke quietly, lest someone would overhear him. “I’m just a clerk, you know?”

“So?” Marton held out his hand.

Alexander took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold.

He ended up in a corner with two actresses, Esme and Manon, who chatted and gossiped. They both wore numerous bracelets and he caught a glimpse of black writing on Manon’s left wrist. He had some eggnog and later champagne, and there were delicious little finger sandwiches offered by a butler. Marton did round after round through the room, skilled in making people laugh, apparently making everyone feel at home. The people were illustrious, Esme and Manon pointing out a writer, a journalist and several scientists. There was one biologist Marton talked to for a good half hour, Alexander not able to keep his eyes away from him for long.

Close to midnight the two actresses excused themselves to have a smoke and their spot was quickly taken by Marton, who handed him a fresh glass of champagne.

“Oh, thank you, though I do fear I have reached my limit for the night.”

“Please, it’s the end of the old year. There are no limits,” Marton drained his glass in one go. “We’ll go up to the roof in a minute, there are some fireworks throughout the city we can watch.”

“That sounds like a fine plan,” Alexander sipped his own drink. “It’s a lovely party.”

“I’m glad you are enjoying yourself,” Marton leaned forward, his hand suddenly on Alexander’s leg. “Very glad indeed.”

“I …,” Alexander glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “We should probably go now, before we miss it. It’s ten minutes to twelve.”

Marton snorted and stood up, Alexander instantly missing the touch. But Marton offered him his hand and this time he took it.

The party made their way onto the roof just in time. There was cheering to be heard all through the city, no cloud in the night sky, and then, when the church bells rang twelve, everyone was hugging each other. Alexander stood a bit to the side, but Esme and Manon came over and kissed his cheek, Manon suddenly pulling him into a proper kiss.

“Never kissed an Englishman,” she laughed at his dumbfounded expression.

“Ladies,” Marton suddenly appeared and they giggled, leaving to join the other guests.

“Happy new year,” Alexander said.

“And to you as well. May it bring many joyous moments,” Marton leaned forward and kissed his cheek again.

Coming downstairs everyone huddled around the fire. Most people were yawning, but Marton still seemed to be full of energy. He put on an opera, after some of the guests had marvelled at the gramophone, and took Manon by the hands, whirling her around the room. Somehow he managed to engage his guests, so in the end everyone was dancing and laughing. Alexander found himself in the arms of Esme, who showed him some dance steps that apparently were the newest rage in Paris.

Suddenly, the door was pushed open. “Victor!”, the large man coming inside shouted, and Marton hurried towards him, shaking his hand. Alexander was amazed to see how Marton suddenly held himself deferentially, as he complimented the man inside and brought him a large whiskey.

Esme had taken Alexander’s hand and pulled him into a corner. It took him a minute to politely excuse himself – as cute as she was, he had no desire to kiss her. Looking around the room he found that everything had gotten quieter, and people were talking among themselves, glancing nervously at the newly arrived guest.

Alexander straightened his tie and decided that it was time to leave. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t his business, and he was feeling very tired. The walk back to his hotel would clear his head sufficiently, and if he managed to get to bed in an hour he would still have enough rest before his appointment at the Deuxième Bureau.

“Monsieur Marton,” he approached the two men who were sitting on the sofa, Marton listening intently to whatever story the man was telling. He glanced up at Alexander. “I wish to take my leave,” Alexander bowed his head. “It has been a wonderful night, thank you for the invitation.”

“You’re from England?” the stranger asked.

“Indeed, Sir. Alexander Waverly, how do you do.”

“Morris,” the man nodded at him. “Sebastian Morris. Always good to see a fellow Englishman in these parts.”

“Well,” Marton suddenly got up, “thank you for coming.” He took Alexander’s arm and led him towards the door. “Really, it has been good to see you. Though next time we meet, it should be a more private affair,” the last words he spoke quietly when they were in the corridor.

“Who was that man?” Alexander asked instead of answering.

“Just someone I work with,” Marton said and kissed his cheek. “And please, call me Victor.”

Walking back to his hotel Alexander felt his head getting clearer. He was in his bed around three o’clock, happy to get at least six hours of sleep before he had to get up again. The last thing he thought of was how soft Victor’s moustache had felt against his cheek.


	2. 01.01.1911

The next day he did not manage to get out of bed on time and thus barely made it to his appointment at the Deuxième Bureau. The secretary gave off a very strong air of disappointment and apparently did not understand his French when he asked for coffee – or pretended not to. And then, he had to wait for forty minutes until he was finally shown into the office of Commandant Dubois.

Dubois was a tall, willowy fellow, with a comically big moustache. He had a mean handshake and offered Alexander a cup of coffee, which he accepted gratefully.

“I see here that you have great references,” Dubois tapped on a few papers. “We’ve not yet worked with your bureau. In fact I thought you guys only looked for German spies.”

“Hopefully this matter will be cleared up quickly and I can go back to the Germans,” Alexander offered a smile.

“It’s curious that you even have people to spare. From what I heard your staff is tiny.”

“We multitask. I do great tea.”

“So they sent me the tea boy, is that it?” Dubious laughed, a strange, high-pitched sound. “Alright, there is our coffee. Don’t tell me it’s shit, cause I know it is.” He smiled at the secretary and thanked her in French, waiting until she left the room again.

“So, it’s like this. A week ago we found a nest of criminals – guns and no papers – and to our absolute dismay they all have British accents and speak nearly no French. One manages to escape, which yes, that is on us. Two take cyanide as soon as they are in custody and the last one, he is scared shitless and we only get him to talk after three days of being very nice. And what he tells us … it doesn’t make much sense,” he took a brown folder from a stack and handed it over. “A spider’s net, is what he called it. A vast criminal network, operating in Britain and now apparently also in our country. You understand why we are not happy.”

“Sounds like he spun you a tale,” Alexander opened the folder, glancing at the first page.

“Yes. I have read your detective stories and loved them. And we both know,” Dubois leaned forward, “that there is more truth in them than people generally realise.”

“If you’ve read the stories, then you surely remember that the spider fell down a waterfall and died. There is no more net.”

“The spider had people working for him. Even if this net has no relations to the oh-so-fictional one, someone else could have managed that feat.”

“Am I right in understanding that you operate under the premise that someone who worked for Moriarty is behind this?”

“I work under the premise that you Brits haven’t done your job properly. Not once, twice you have allowed a criminal network to develop right under your noses.”

“The words of a scared criminal are hardly a stable ground to build a theory on.”

“True, which is why you are here. Look through the material and then tell me if there is anything to it. You have to do it here,” he pointed at a corner of his office, where a chair was pushed between two tall bookshelves. “I can’t allow those documents to leave the premises, you understand.”

There wasn’t much in the folder. A protocol of the arrest, pictures of the criminals, statements from London police about the identity of most of the men and their previous convictions, the coroner’s report and finally, three pages of interview transcript with the last prisoner: James Notts, a miner from Hulton. Alexander felt a shiver running down his spine wondering if Mister James Notts would have preferred to die in the explosion nearly two weeks ago to rotting in a French prison.

“It’s not much,” he said when he was done.

Dubois looked up from whatever papers he had been reading. “No, it is not.”

“So … the most likely scenario is that Mister Notts is pulling your nose. It’s easier to blame a big mysterious evil for your bad deeds than to take full responsibility.”

“Are you willing to take that chance? Is your government?”

“What my government is not willing to do is to waste time and resources. There is nothing of substance here. And nothing I can add to it.”

“You come all the way to Paris and that’s what you tell me.”

“There’s nothing else I can tell you,” Alexander got up and closed the folder, putting it down on Dubois’s desk.

“I cannot accept that,” Dubois stood up, leaning on his table. “I talked to Notts. I saw the fear in his eyes. He spoke the truth.”

Alexander shrugged. “Like I said, I cannot tell you anything else.”

“Speak to Notts yourself then,” Dubois said. “I’ll get you a meeting tomorrow.”

Alexander nodded. “Alright. But if he doesn’t convince me, I will return to my German spies.”

“That’s fair,” Dubois huffed and settled himself back in his chair.

“Captain,” Alexander felt himself sitting up straighter, even though Captain Kell could only hear him over the telephone.

“Waverly, your report, please.”

“Yes, Sir. I have spoken to Commandant Dubois today. He is convinced that there is a new criminal network in Britain, like there was under Moriarty or perhaps a continuation of that one.” There was only silence on the other end of the line, so Alexander spoke on. “I looked through the material. I can’t say I find it substantial. James Notts seems to have told the French a fairy tale.”

“Notts is one of the criminals?”

“Yes, Sir. A simple miner from Hulton, of all places. At least he seems to have read Sherlock Holmes.”

“So, your assessment is that there is nothing to it?”

“Based on what I’ve seen so far, yes. Dubois is arranging for me to speak to Notts myself tomorrow.”

“I suppose that is all that can be done in this situation,” Kell said slowly. “Waverly, I’m trusting your judgment on this. If you speak to Notts and feel that there is nothing to it after all, you come back. If you find there is reason to what Notts says, then you stay and continue to investigate. Because God knows, we don’t need another Moriarty.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Alright. Report back to me tomorrow. Good luck.”

Alexander sighed as he put the receiver back. He was not quite sure what he should hope for. If Notts’s story would turn out to be nothing and there wasn’t another Moriarty, which was of course the preferable option, he would have to go back home.

Leaving the embassy in the late afternoon Alexander decided to go for a walk along the Seine. It was cold, but the air felt crisp and refreshing. Passing one of the many cafés, he noticed someone jumping up and waving at him. He turned and was not surprised to see Victor hurrying towards him.

“Alexander, what a coincidence!” Victor leaned close and kissed his cheek.

“Is it?” Alexander drew back a bit and raised an eyebrow.

Victor laughed and linked his arm with Alexander’s. “Perhaps not. Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

“I was just about to,” Alexander let himself be pulled along.

“Perfect. Now, how are you? Have you slept off the alcohol from last night?”

“Quite, yes. It was a lovely party, thank you again for the invitation.”

“Oh, but of course! I’m glad you came. The usual crowd can be a bit boring.”

“They seemed friendly enough. Say, this Mister Morris … he seemed to make quite an impression on everyone. Is it someone I should know?”

They were walking down a quiet and dark road and at the end of it Alexander could see the first street lamps being lit. The last light of the day was slowly dissipating and as he glanced towards the sky he thought he could make out the first stars.

“He’s an industrialist,” Victor said after quite a long pause. “Like I said, someone I work with.”

“He didn’t seem to be very much liked by the party,” Alexander said.

Victor snorted. “A good observation. He can be … prone to anger. He’s a man that loves to live loudly.”

“What a diplomatic way to put it.”

“I can be very diplomatic,” Victor laughed. “But I do not wish to talk about Morris, if we could be talking about you.”

“I told you, I’m just a clerk. There isn’t much else to tell, really. Besides, I don’t know what you do for the government.”

“I work for the patent office. I examine applications. But you should not hide your light under a bushel! Is that how you say it?”

“Yes,” Alexander chuckled.

“Because, even if you are just a clerk, you have been chosen for the British embassy in Paris. That means something.”

“It seems you have the wrong impression. We in Britain do not like France that much.”

“Oh, humbug and prejudice! Which fine, young man would not like to come to the city of love?”

“I came here to work,” Alexander pointed out.

“So serious,” Victor sighed. They had reached the end of the street, the river now before them. Alexander took a deep breath, his gaze following the water.

“Do you never have fun?” Victor asked.

“I’m having fun right now,” Alexander said before he could stop himself. Victor turned towards him, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

“I am very glad to hear that. You are not easy to crack, but I do enjoy a challenge.”

“Why are you so interested in me?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? You are sharp and mysterious and handsome …,” Victor was suddenly very close. “And I felt myself pulled towards you the first moment I saw you ...”

Suddenly a carriage went by, one of the horses neighing loudly and Alexander used the moment to step back. This was too much, at once, his knees feeling weak and his heart beating loudly.

“I think I need to go left to get back to my hotel,” he said as if nothing had happened. There was a bitter smile on Victor’s lips, but then he just linked their arms again and they went to the left, walking in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though it probably should have been. Alexander felt more than a pang of regret when they reached his hotel and Victor kissed his cheek again to say good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Pretoria Pit disaster, which Mister Notts avoided by becoming a criminal, took place on 21 December 1910. You can read about it here: http://www.lan-opc.org.uk/Westhoughton/Pretoria/index.html


	3. 02.01.1911

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the last few tags for this chapter, those will be mentioned.  
> Also, there is a tiny bit of French in this. If you are reading on a PC/laptop, you can hover over it and the translation will show up. Otherwise, you can find it in the end note.

The next morning Alexander was back at the embassy, but before he had even taken off his jacket the phone down the hallway rang and he was called to it. Girard was on the other end, telling him he had an appointment to see James Notts at 11 am and he would pick him up in twenty minutes.

“How are you, Mister Waverly?” Girard asked when Alexander had gotten into the car.

“Quite well, thank you.”

They did not exchange another word on the way to the building where Notts was held. The site was located an hour outside of Paris. It was a little Château picturesquely positioned in the countryside and did not look like a prison at all. Alexander followed Girard inside after they were checked through by the guards and down the stairs into a cellar.

James Notts was sitting at a table, his hands chained to a ring in the wood. As the door opened and he looked up, Alexander could see the fear in his eyes. He was a short, wiry man, messy black curls and faint freckles on sickly, waxen skin. He had one black eye, a split lip and held his left arm carefully.

“Please, no more … s’il vous plaît … please ...”

Alexander stepped into the room and Girard closed the door behind him. There wasn’t anything else inside except the table and two chairs. Alexander took the free one, sitting down with a sigh. He got out his cigarettes and took one out of the case, taking his time lighting it.

“Monsieur … je suis désolé …,” Notts stared at him with wide eyes, “s’il vous plaît, aide-moi ...”

“I could give you a smoke,” Alexander held out the burning cigarette.

“You are British?”

“Indeed.”

“Oh, praise the lord … I thought you were here to hurt me.”

“No, I’m just here to talk. Do you want this?”

“Yes,” Notts took the cigarette and greedily inhaled the smoke. “You have to get me out of here, please. I’ve done nothing wrong, it wasn’t my fault ...”

“Now, that’s not quite true, is it? You’ve come to Paris with malintent. You and your friends.”

“But they are not my friends!” Notts exclaimed. “You have to believe me, I dunno anything!”

“You seem to know about the spider and his net,” Alexander said with a smirk, lightening a cigarette for himself. “So what is it, you know something or nothing?”

Notts averted his eyes, continuing to smoke. “They hired me six weeks ago,” he eventually said quietly.

“Who are they?” Alexander asked.

“I don’t know their names. Not their real ones. They told me that at the beginning.”

“But James Notts is your real name, we confirmed that.”

“Yes. I had a fake one, but when the French arrested me I didn’t remember.”

“I see,” Alexander said. “So, what did they hire you for?”

“They needed someone who’s mean in a fight. Me, I have a good swing. And I do like fighting.”

“So, you were hired as a muscle. Even though you don’t have any.”

“And to do the dirty work. First, just some smuggling. Then, they had me beating someone up. I guess they were testing if I was loyal.”

“And then France?”

“Yes. They told me t’was an important job, one that would further Britain’s position in the world. Or something.”

“But they didn’t tell you what the job was.”

“No. That’s what I’ve been telling the French as well, but they don’t believe me.”

“Well, it is hardly believable,” Alexander said. “Even if they did not tell you directly, you must have some idea.”

“I think ... I dunno, Mister. I think they wanted to kill someone. They were arguing about who would take the shot one night, but maybe they were just saying it to throw me off, how would I know?”

“When did this argument take place?”

“A day before the French got us. We were still at the other place.”

“What other place? It said in the report you were found in an abandoned house in the southern outskirts of the city?”

“Yes. We moved there. The ladies didn’t like us very much. But we liked them.”

“Tell me about the ladies.”

“When we got to Paris, we went to stay with them. They had a big house and we could stay in the cellar. It was nicer than this,” Notts said bitterly.

“And who were those ladies?”

“Dunno. Just know that there were two. Two beautiful ladies with wonderful pink hair.”

“Pink hair?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. And you really don’t know their names?”

“No.”

“And they sheltered you? Did they know about the job you were supposed to do?”

“I dunno. I guess. They didn’t say anything to me. Our boss spent some time with them.”

“But you dunno anything,” Alexander said with a sigh. “Alright, then what made you say those things about the spider and the net?”

“That was when we were on the ship. Our boss, he was sick and so he got drunk and the rest of us as well. The boss said we would make the spider proud. I asked what spider and he just laughed at me.”

“Have you read Sherlock Holmes?”

“No, I don’t read a lot,” Notts said. “Is he famous?”

“Never mind. So, did your boss explain who the spider was?”

“He said the spider was dead. But that we were carrying on its work. A lot of stuff about Britain being the best country in the world. And then ... they kind of forgot about me and talked about those other jobs they had done. And it all sounded like there was this big organisation?”

Alexander hummed. “And they did not mind that you heard all that?”

“Next morning we landed and had to continue our journey. They forgot or didn’t seem to mind. I –“

“– dunno, yes, I got that,” Alexander sighed again. “Do you know your friends have killed themselves? Cyanide, apparently.”

Notts slowly nodded.

“Why haven’t you?”

“I don’t wanna die. They gave me one, told me to take it if we were arrested. Maybe I should have – I start to think dying is better than being in a French prison.”

“What did you do with it?”

“Threw it away.”

Alexander hummed again. “And this spider, do you think there is any chance that they were pulling your nose?”

“Dunno. Maybe. But they were all really drunk. They are not good men.”

“One could argue that you are not as well.”

Notts snorted. “Yeah, well, maybe. But I’m not as bad as them. They and this spider, they ... I think they are really fixated on what they want. I mean, they killed themselves for it. That’s sick, isn’t it?”

Alexander slowly nodded. “One of your friends, he escaped. Judging from the information you gave the French it was your boss.”

“He is an angry man. And mean and dangerous. I think he would kill just for the joy of it.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“No. I told you everything, you and the French. Can you get me out of here? They will kill me, I’m sure!”

“I don’t have the authority,” Alexander shrugged. “I’m just a clerk.”

“Then why did they let you talk with me?”

“Someone had to,” Alexander got up. “But I will talk with someone in the embassy. I’m sure they will find a place in a British prison for you or send you to the colonies.”

“Anything but this,” Notts said.

“We’ll see,” Alexander got out his case again and took two more cigarettes, which he placed beside Notts hands. Then, he knocked on the door and left without taking a look back as Girard opened it for him.

On the way back to the city he tried to sort the information in his head, but his thoughts kept coming back to Victor. The disappointment in his eyes last night – would he really have kissed him? He touched his own lips, wondering how it would have felt, if this tension he felt looking at Victor would have ignited.

“Was your interview successful?” Girard suddenly asked.

Alexander sat up straight, his hand dropping down. “Quite. I think I shall stay a bit longer in Paris.”

Girard nodded and returned his attention back to the road. Silly, Alexander thought. He was in Paris to work and not to get distracted. And besides, he knew how kissing felt. Margaret was a very good kisser. There was nothing he could gain by giving in to Victor’s attention.

At the embassy he arranged for Notts to be released from French custody and to be brought back to England. Then, he called Captain Kell and reported to him, getting the permission to stay as long in Paris as he thought it necessary.

Back in his hotel he found an envelope waiting for him – a theatre ticket for Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. The performance would take place on Wednesday, in a theatre not far from his hotel. On the back of the ticket he found a line written in the by now familiar handwriting:

_Drinks are on me. See you!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s’il vous plaît – please  
> je suis désolé - I'm sorry  
> aide-moi - help me
> 
> (Since James Notts is not a native speaker, I did not have this checked by one.)


	4. 03. – 05.01.1911

The next morning Alexander was early at the embassy to use the telephone. Margaret always left the house at 7.30 sharp and Alexander wanted to get this particular conversation over with rather sooner than later.

The phone rang a few times before Ernest, Margaret’s little brother, answered.

“This is Alexander. Could I please speak to Margaret?”

Ernest giggled – he was in that age where everything to do with romance was funny – and then screamed loudly for his sister. Alexander had already held the receiver a bit away from his ear.

“Alexander?” Margaret sounded a bit out of breath. “I’m so glad you are calling, I was just getting ready for work. How are you?”

“I’m well,” Alexander cleared his throat. He always felt a bit stiff talking to his fiancée. “And you?”

“I miss you,” Margaret said rather matter-of-factly. “But I am good. So are mother and father ... And well, Ernest is his usual annoying self.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m calling because … I am afraid I need to stay in Paris a bit longer.”

“That’s ... not good to hear,” she drew a shaky breath. “How much longer?”

“I do not know yet. I need to see how this job develops.”

“Alex ... I really do miss you. And it’s my birthday in two weeks, will you be back by then?”

“I don’t know. I cannot make any promises.”

“But ...,” now she was snivelling quietly.

Alexander bit his lip hard before he replied. “What I can promise is that I’ll make it up to you when I’m back, alright? We’ll go out to a very fancy restaurant and see a play. Would you like that?”

“I’d like you to be here,” she said. “And not to be left alone to plan our wedding.”

“Margaret, don’t be unkind. You know my job requires certain sacrifices.”

“Sacrifices, yes. But it doesn’t need you to treat it as more important than me!” Now there was heat in her voice and he was glad for it – it was better than crying.

“You are important to me. Don’t ever question that!” he answered in much the same tone. “But this work needs to be done. We talked about this!”

“You talked about it! I only agreed because you didn’t give me any room to argue! Sometimes I think –,” she hesitated.

“What?” he growled.

“I think you only asked to marry me out of pity.”

Alexander was quiet for a long moment – too long.

“Well, that’s that then,” Margaret said. “I need to leave for work.”

“Margaret ...,” but the line was already disconnected.

_That’s that then,_ he thought as he walked down the street to the restaurant where he would meet another informant. The only problem was: he had no idea what was what. Had she meant that it was the end of the conversation? Or the end of their engagement? He had known she would be disappointed, but so strong a reaction he had not expected. And what would that mean for himself, if Margaret suddenly wasn’t a part of his life anymore? It was not true – he had felt sorry for her, but he had asked for her hand because she was intelligent, witty, beautiful, and because he enjoyed spending time with her. And his feelings for her were calm and stable and with Margaret in his life he had enough space for his work. To marry Margaret was a logical choice. He kicked at a stone and then took a deep breath. There was no use speculating or getting caught up, he had work to do now. He would give her a few days to calm down and then call again – and perhaps send a parcel with French delicacies.

The restaurant was a gloomy room in a back alley and Alexander felt a bit annoyed at his contact’s stereotypical choice of a meeting place. But at least the waiter was quick and the coffee he served was hot and strong. His contact showed up ten minutes late, falling down heavily on the chair opposite Alexander.

“I’ve got a name for you,” he said without a greeting.

Alexander took another sip of his coffee.

“You not interested in that?” the man asked.

“Depends on whose name it is,” Alexander shrugged.

The man chuckled. “Fair enough. It’s the name of this little organisation that has everyone so nervous. And our countrymen, the ones who got arrested, they were a part of it.”

“I see. What is it then?” Alexander asked calmly, nothing in his face or posture showing the sudden tension he felt.

“Thrush,” the man said very pleased.

“You mean ... like the bird?”

“Yeah. Not very innovative, but that’s what it is.”

“And where have you learned of this name?”

“Can’t say. You know how it is,” he shrugged and then took Alexander’s cup, finishing it in one gulp. “But it’s genuine.”

“That needs to be verified,” Alexander said. “And besides, a name is not worth anything if we don’t get to the people who are behind it.”

“But it’s more than you had before,” the man held out a hand and Alexander sighed, reaching into his pocket.

“That’s not even half of what you promised!” the man said angrily as he looked at the bills Alexander had handed him.

“Like I said, it’s just a name. You get the rest – and more – if you get me names from members of this ... Thrush.”

The man cussed and got up. “Fine,” he said. “I will. But it will take some time.”

Alexander shrugged. “I’ll be in Paris until further notice.”

“Waverly? Ah yes. I heard you are still in Paris. You believe me now, don’t you?” Somehow Dubois’s booming voice sounded like he stood right in front of Alexander.

“Yes. I do think that Notts was more afraid of his jailers than of the spider, but there seems to be something to it.”

“Well, whatever makes you keep working on it. It’s your mess after all.”

“Actually, there is one thing I would like you to ask Mister Notts.”

“Yes?”

“Ask him if he knows about Thrush.”

“About what?”

“Thrush. It’s a bird.”

“Why should he know anything about some bloody bird?”

“Because it seems to be what this group calls itself. Just ask him, will you?” Alexander hoped his annoyance wasn’t too clear in his voice.

“Fine. I’ll send Girard. Say, I’m having a dinner party tomorrow, would you like to come?”

“That’s very kind, but unfortunately I already have another engagement.”

“No problem. Another time then.”

“Another time. Call me back when you have Girard’s report?”

“I will. Good bye.”

“Good bye.”

After a busy morning contacting informants Alexander spent the next afternoon picking out delicacies and presents for Margaret and Ernest and went to the post office to send them off to London. Back at his hotel he dressed in his best suit and slipped the ticket into his pocket.

Perhaps, that was that after all and he would be stupid not to find out how it felt to kiss Victor ... Before he could change his mind again, he was on his way to the theatre. There was a big, fancy crowd and he was quickly lost in it, any effort to spot Victor in the entrance hall futile.

So, he had a glass of champagne and when the bell rang found his place in one of the boxes. There was already a couple seated there, which greeted him kindly, and one place beside his was empty. He sat down and took in the stage – it was lavishly decorated, a bit too much for his taste. But it had been some time since he had seen a play by the bard, so he was looking forward to the experience.

The room went dark and he chuckled quietly as the first verses were said. Somehow hearing those well-known words in French was quite entertaining.

It was well into the first act when the door to the box opened and someone came in, sitting down beside Alexander. A hand on his arm, a leg pressed against his – Alexander looked straight at the stage, but could not hold off his smile for long.

“I’m sorry,” Victor whispered as Alexander turned towards him. “There was some business I had to take care off.”

“I was quite entertained.”

“I’m glad. Have you spotted Esme and Manon?”

“I have not. Are they in it?”

“Yes,” Victor grinned. “Let’s see ...,” he pointed at one of the fairies, who was wearing a mask, a green dress and a pink wig. “That’s Manon. Esme is not on stage right now.”

“Shhh,” the lady beside them turned and Victor made a soothing gesture. Alexander chuckled and returned his attention to the stage.

“Let’s go backstage,” Victor said when the curtain had fallen. “There’s going to be a big party.”

“Actually ...,” Alexander waited until the couple had left the box and they were alone. “You promised me a drink.”

“Yes. There will be lots of alcohol.”

“Ah, I was hoping ...,” Alexander hesitated.

“What?” Victor stepped close.

“I was hoping we would go for a drink – just the two of us.”

“Is that so,” Victor took in his expression and then he smiled brightly. “Then for a drink we shall go,” he offered Alexander his arm, which he accepted.

They ended up in a very elegant bar and Alexander would have felt out of place if Victor wasn’t demanding all of his attention. His companion was talking about this and that, holding Alexander’s gaze for long moments, finding ways to touch him innocently. Sitting in a dark corner Alexander had forgotten all about Margaret and he returned the attention Victor was giving him in the same manner.

“You know,” Victor chuckled lowly, “I was a bit disheartened after our walk on Sunday.”

“But you haven’t given up.”

“No. I am still far too interested in you.”

“Any new insights?”

“I’m terribly attracted to you, but that’s not new,” Victor shrugged. “You still haven’t told me anything about your private life, which is getting a bit frustrating – and don’t say again that you are just a clerk.”

“My father died two years ago,” Alexander said dryly.

“Oh,” Victor stared at him and then reached out and took his hand. “I am sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. He wasn’t a kind man. Neither to me nor to my mother – and she is now thriving. She married again last autumn and I have never seen her happier.”

“Do you have siblings?”

Alexander huffed amused. “I think that was far too much information for one evening. I can’t tell you everything in one go, otherwise you’ll lose interest.”

“Never,” Victor said. “Would you like to come back to my place?”

Alexander looked down at their hands. Now he did think of Margaret – fleetingly. “Yes,” he said, looking up. “I would like to very much.”

They took a carriage, Victor not letting Alexander out of his sight. In the flat he first got out a bottle of champagne and poured two glasses, handing one to Alexander. “To a wonderful night.”

“To a wonderful night,” Alexander echoed. He felt a bit nervous, never having done anything like this, going to a strangers place with the clear intention of ...

“Hey,” Victor said softly and took the glass from his hand. “Where are you?”

Alexander shook his head. “Here. This is just ... a new situation for me.”

“I’ll take care of you, I promise,” Victor said and then, finally, he leaned forward and kissed him.

Alexander had fallen asleep. When he woke up he could see Victor standing at the window, having a smoke. He sat up and reached for a glass of water that was standing on the bedside table. He felt content, a pleasant ache in his muscles.

“There you are, sleeping beauty,” Victor extinguished his cigarette and closed the window, coming back to the bed. He stretched beside Alexander and then placed a possessive hand on Alexander’s leg. “I’m terribly curious,” he said, “I couldn’t spot your words.”

“You looked?” Alexander put the glass back and stared down at him.

“Of course. I have you naked in my bed, what else would I do?”

“That’s ... terribly rude,” Alexander moved away from him, gathering the blanket around himself. His words were still covered up, so there was no way Victor could see them, but he still felt on display.

“And that is very British,” Victor chuckled. “Don’t be mad. Can you really say that you are not curious?”

“I know your handwriting,” Alexander said matter-of-factly.

“No, you don’t. I have my secretary write everything for me,” Victor scooped closer, his fingers trailing over Alexander’s arm. “So, the ball is still in the court.”

Alexander huffed. “Show me yours then.”

Victor did not reply for a long moment.

“Ah, see? Not so British after all,” he continued rather smugly.

“Fine,” Victor threw himself back, closing his eyes.

“Are you sulking?” Alexander laughed and laid down as well, letting his hand hover over Victor’s cock.

Victor opened one eye. “Perhaps you can save my mood,” he said.

“I’ll try my best.”

“What made you change your mind?” Victor asked. They were having breakfast in the kitchen, fresh croissants, jam and hot coffee.

“About?”

“About me. About coming here, last night.”

“Oh. I ...,” he shrugged. “Who said I changed my mind? Perhaps I just didn’t want to make it too easy for you.”

Victor shook his head. “No, that’s not it. You were fighting with yourself.”

Alexander took a sip of his coffee, not feeling entirely comfortable with the topic – but it also wouldn’t be fair not to tell him. “I had a fight with my fiancée two days ago and I’m not sure if we are still engaged.”

Victor stared at him and then drew a big breath. “You ... you are engaged?”

“Yes,” Alexander shrugged again. “We are to marry this summer.”

“But ... is she here in Paris?”

“No, back in London,” he caught himself. “She’s supposed to follow me here in a few months. There are still some family matters ...”

“Well,” Victor said. There was a frown on his forehead, his gaze dark. “Now I know why you were not curious about my words.”

“She is not my soulmate,” Alexander said before thinking better of it.

“Then why are you marrying her?” Victor asked aghast.

“As if that is so unusual,” Alexander nearly rolled his eyes.

“Is it an arranged affair?”

“No. I asked her.”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“Because I love her. And she ... her soulmate, she died in an accident. Our fathers were old friends and I ... I thought it was the right thing to do. Besides, I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“And still you do,” Victor said. “I don’t get it, why would you marry someone who is not your soulmate? What happens when you are married and you meet them?”

“Nothing,” Alexander replied. “I will be married. Happily.”

Victor snorted. He finished his croissant with a bite, picking up the crumbs with a finger. “You say you love her,” he said slowly, “but no, if you have not yet met your soulmate you do not know what love is.”

“Do you?” Alexander asked.

Victor turned his gaze towards him, his gaze intense.

“Besides,” Alexander hurried on to say, “my parents were soulmates. It did not make them happy.”

“So you throw away your own chance of happiness,” Victor said quietly. “I pity you.”

“Well,” Alexander got up. “It doesn’t matter what you think. We are nothing to each other. It was a lovely night and that’s it.”

“Alexander,” Victor got up, taking a step towards him.

“What? What do you want from me?” Alexander’s voice was wavering.

Victor reached out and then just pulled him into a kiss. “You are not nothing to me,” he whispered against his lips. “Not nothing at all.”


	5. 05. – 08.01.1911

He was late for work that day, but then again, he was keeping his own hours and no one really cared if he was in his office in the embassy or out and about. Victor had practically dragged him back to bed and Alexander had needed every ounce of strength to eventually leave.

He did not feel bad about it. Even thinking about Margaret back in London he could not regret it. Victor had asked if he would come by again this evening and he had said yes – because what else was there to say? But until then, the hours stretched before him and perhaps for the first time in his life he felt reluctant to start his working day. Which was ridiculous, considering he was on the trail of a criminal network that had allegedly evolved out of Professor Moriarty’s ... and he had a name now, a thread to pull and hopefully with it to untangle more of this net.

Having checked his post at the embassy he quickly left again and went to a library. His knowledge of birds was very rudimentary and perhaps reading up on it would shed some light on the matter. The only problem was that while his French was very passable when it came to holding a conversation and reading the newspaper, actually doing research was a painstakingly slow affair.

At the end of the day, he had found nothing of interest – except that the thrush was a common and widely spread bird, which perhaps echoed the image of Moriarty’s hidden empire.

He went back to the embassy to check if his French colleagues had left a message and found a note informing him to call Girard when he had the chance.

“Good evening, here is Alexander Waverly. Monsieur Girard?”

“Mister Waverly, good evening. I have news from Mister Notts. I just caught him this morning before he was sent on his way to England.”

“And?”

“He said that the men he worked with called themselves Thrush. He does not know why.”

“So it is true,” Alexander breathed out softly. “Thank you, that is very helpful.”

“Of course. If you have any other information for us, Commandant Dubois would be very grateful.”

“Not yet, but I am working on it.”

“Alright. If you need any assistance ...”

“I will call you. Good evening.”

His next call was to Captain Kell, who seemed pleased with the new information. He thought about calling Margaret after that, but ... no, not yet. She would need some more time to calm down. So, he went to his hotel to dress in new clothes and then back to Victor’s place, hoping that there would be some dinner since he had skipped lunch.

Alexander had not known that sex could feel so exhilarating. But somehow Victor knew just where to touch him and how, and he seemed to react just as intensely to Alexander’s attentions.

“Are you always wearing your socks to bed?” Victor asked him with a laugh when they were enjoying a glass of wine and some grapes late at night, sitting on top of the muddled sheets.

“I get cold feet easily,” Alexander shrugged.

Victor smiled pleased, a smile Alexander had come to associate with his friends hunger for knowledge.

“Really, you are happy to learn even that about me?”

“Yes. I am happy about everything I learn about you,” Victor reached out and stroke up his leg. “The way you shiver under my touch, the hesitation that is still in your eyes in some moments. The way your hair falls over your forehead and you strike it back annoyed. The flush on your cheeks when I compliment you. All those and more I am happy to learn and I’ll keep those moments and treasure them.”

“You are ridiculous,” Alexander chuckled and then looked down at Victor’s hand close to his groin. “Are you just teasing or will you do something about that?”

The next evening found him knocking on Victor’s door again. He had spent the day talking to his informants, but no new information had come of it. The whispers did not know the name Thrush and so he had to keep digging. But for now, he would forget all about it and lose himself in Victor again.

Walking through the flat a few hours later he found the library and marvelled at the rows and rows of scientific journals that lined the shelves.

“Do you read all of those?” he asked Victor, who had found and hugged him from behind, their naked bodies fitting together perfectly.

“No,” Victor chuckled. “I wish I had the time. Science and technology have always been my passion.”

“Then why aren’t you a scientist?” Alexander asked.

“I could be, probably. But my talents lie elsewhere. I am better with people than with things. More patient,” he chuckled again.

Alexander turned in his arms, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “I am glad you were patient with me,” he said.

“So am I.”

“I am out of the city until tomorrow,” Victor said over breakfast. “But I will have a party on Sunday, will you come?”

Alexander nodded. “Of course. Will it be a grand affair?”

“No, just the usual crowd. Esme and Manon have been asking for you, they’ll be happy to see you.”

“They are ...,” Alexander hesitated, not wanting to pry.

“What?” Victor prompted.

“They are soulmates, yes?”

Victor grinned. “Yes, and married for five years by now.”

“But ...”

“Yes. They like to flirt and kiss and go even further with other people. If it weren’t for me, they would probably share you.”

“That implies I would be willing to let myself be shared.”

“You are interested in them. That’s a start,” Victor grinned.

Saturday was a slow and boring day. The thought of having to go back to his hotel and sleep on his own was not a pleasant one at all, but yet, it could not be helped. So, he gladly took an invitation by the British ambassador to join him for dinner. It turned out to be more of a banquet and Alexander ended up sitting on the left side of the ambassador’s wife, who introduced herself as Fedya. She was probably in her early 70s, but the way she held herself spoke of an undiminished strength. She was still beautiful and Alexander noted a few of the guests not being able to keep their eyes from her. Engaging Alexander and her right-hand neighbour, an editor of a newspaper, in light conversation, Alexander found that he actually enjoyed himself for most of the dinner. Still, when dessert came he excused himself to have a smoke and afterwards, when the table had been cleared, retreated into a corner with a bottle of wine, where he slowly drank himself to a state of pleasantness.

At least, when he had found his way back to his hotel, he was not drunk enough to call Margaret. She could wait another day.

It was perhaps a foolish thing to do, but he rarely spent money on himself and this he could even write off as an expense. The tailcoat was made of very fine material, cut in the newest Paris fashion. His new tie was a rich lilac, his shirt stark white, silver stitching on the collar and the cuffs subtly catching the eye. The pants were quite tight and he had seen in the mirror that they made his backside and legs look extremely good. He felt ... he should feel ridiculous, being dressed up like this, but instead he felt powerful and handsome and he could not wait for Victor’s reaction.

As Alexander climbed the stairs to the fourth floor he could hear voices drifting down. He felt a tingling in his stomach at the thought of seeing Victor again and took two steps at a time.

Victor opened and let him in. When Alexander had taken off his coat he was rewarded for his effort – Victor stared at him, opening his mouth just to close it again.

Alexander chuckled. “Do you like it?”

“I ... I wish I could take you out of it right this moment,” Victor said. “Alas, I’ll have to suffer all night, until the last guest is gone. And what a sweet torture it will be,” he took the end of the tie and let the fabric run through his fingers. “You look exquisite, Alex.”

Alexander beamed at him. “I’m sure your guests already miss you.”

“Indeed,” Victor said sulkily. He let Alexander walk in front of him, surely without any intentions.

It was again a lovely party, Victor a perfect host. He seemed to sparkle, giving his attention wherever it was needed and Alexander was glad to have found a quiet corner to watch him.

Not soon after he had arrived Esme and Manon burst into the room, bringing laughter with them. They quickly joined him, their chattering and innocent touches keeping his attention. They were delightful and quick and not his type at all, which only made it easy to enjoy the moment.

“Dance with me,” Victor suddenly appeared, having put on music some time ago and Alexander just took his hand, letting himself be pulled. He did not mind that people were watching them, that they were the centre of attention. It still felt as if it were only the two of them.

“Victor!” a booming voice from the door and Alexander noted the anger in Victor’s eyes that was there for just a moment. His companion let go, an apology on his lips as he left Alexander to welcome Mister Morris.

He felt lost for a moment, but then went back to Esme and Manon, who were still sitting on the couch.

Something had shifted again in the atmosphere, even worse than at the first party. Alexander watched Victor and Morris talking quietly at the door, noting that Morris seemed angry. It wasn’t long before they left the room and Alexander turned to the women.

“Do you know this Morris?” he asked.

They shrugged. “Victor works with him,” Esme said.

“We have met him a few times,” Manon added.

“He is not that often in Paris.”

“I do not think he really likes it here.”

“He doesn’t like us. The French, that is.”

“Yes. A strange man with strange ideas.”

“Like what?” Alexander asked.

“Oh, about this and that.”

“Nothing of substance. But he worries Victor,” Esme said and Alexander caught a look passing between the women – a warning? A caution?

“It does not matter,” Manon said and put her hand on Alexander’s knee. “I am not Victor, but will you still dance with me?”

“I would be honoured to,” they chuckled at his words. “But first, I need to excuse myself for a moment.”

The toilet was at the other end of the hallway and on his way he passed the library. The door was ajar and he would not have stopped if he had not heard a low, angry voice – Victor – speaking quickly. He could not make out the words, but he could hear the answer clearly, being shouted back.

“You are holding me back, Marton! I am telling you, we are doing this! You have no right to question my reason!”

“It is foolish,” now Victor’s words rang clearly out of the room. “You are a fool, risking everything you have built so far!”

Another sound rang out and Alexander had pushed open the door before he could think about it. Victor was on the floor, holding a hand against his face, Morris standing over him breathing hard. They both looked at him and Alexander rushed to Victor, not caring about the hate in Morris’s eyes.

“I will not hear such defiance from you again, Marton,” Morris spit out the words and then left the room with big steps.

“Let me see,” Alexander murmured, pulling away Victor’s hand. A split lip was revealed and the beginning of a bruise on his left cheek.

“It’s nothing,” Victor turned away his head, but Alexander gently put his fingers against his cheek.

“It is not nothing. Let me take care of you.”

In the kitchen he cleaned off the blood from Victor’s lip and found some ice for the bruise. “I’ll send everyone home.”

“Thank you,” Victor said. “You will stay?”

“Of course,” Alexander pressed his hand for a moment.

As soon as everyone had gone they went to bed, stripped to their underwear. Alexander lay behind Victor, holding him close all through the night.


	6. 09. – 12.01.1911

Monday morning came too early and Alexander nearly stayed in bed with Victor, who was sleeping soundly, warm and solid in his arms. But he had to get to the office. He had a meeting with the ambassador in the morning to talk about his progress, he needed to call Captain Kell for updates and most importantly, he needed to think of a strategy to get closer to Thrush. So, he left Victor in bed, got a quick breakfast in the kitchen and then went to Victor’s typewriter to leave him a short note.

His Excellency had asked Alexander into his office. He had just had time to go by his hotel to change his suit and now felt nearly human as he sat down in the visitor’s chair and gratefully accepted a cup of tea from the secretary.

“We did not speak much on Saturday, I was sorry to notice,” the ambassador smiled at him.

“I have to admit, I do not really like big crowds,” Alexander said.

“We’ll invite you to a more private dinner soon then. Fedya had a very good impression of you.”

“I am honoured. I did enjoy chatting with her, she seems to be a remarkable woman.”

“I’ll pass that along,” the ambassador sipped his own tea. “Now, tell me about this ... Thrush, is it?”

“It is,” Alexander nodded. “And I am afraid that so far I cannot tell you much. Our British criminals were a part of it. It has been suggested that it is a vast organisation, carrying on the work of Professor Moriarty.”

“Indeed,” the ambassador murmured.

“And ... well, whatever they were planning to do here, I do not believe it to be over. One of them escaped and there are still rumours flying around.”

“Do you have any idea what their goal was?”

“The prisoner I talked to was under the impression that they wanted to murder someone. However, he knew little that is of actual substance.”

“And what is your impression?”

Alexander took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I think it would be foolish to take the ramblings of a prisoner too seriously, especially one that has been tortured by the French. But it would be just as foolish to let this situation be. I do think there is the possibility of a threat – if not here in Paris than definitely back in Britain. For now, I will try to investigate and find out as much as I can, though I have not much to work with.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“There is actually one thing I wanted to ask you, Sir. I have met a man called Sebastian Morris, who has been described to me as an industrialist. Do you know him?”

“I have met him a few times, yes. Why do you ask?”

“What is your impression of him? Is he a trustworthy character?”

Now the ambassador took a moment to think before speaking. “I cannot quite say. My overall impression was not very positive, but that is only based on a handful of conversations. He did not seem to be a ... gentleman. I suppose that is the most I can say.”

“Do you think you could get me some more information on him? I am interested in where he comes from, what his work is, his connections here in France and back in Britain.”

“Do you believe he is connected to this Thrush?”

Alexander shook his head. “He piqued my interest, that is all.”

He gave the same request for information to Captain Kell. Then, he spent a few hours holed up in his office, trying to come up with a strategy. There was an escaped British criminal somewhere in Paris, as well as two ladies with pink hair who had sheltered his group. There was a vast organisation that had sparked rumours, but not so much that anyone of importance had noticed until now. And there was someone somewhere in Paris whose death was planned.

It really was not much. Well, he also knew what Thrush wanted – to further Britain’s position in the world, or so James Notts had said. He snorted at the thought. His impression had always been that Moriarty did things because he could, because he enjoyed doing them, and not to further anyone’s interests but his own. Then again, Moriarty thankfully had been one of a kind. Whoever had taken over could not be like him and that was at least some comfort.

But thinking about Moriarty and the purpose of it all actually sparked a useful thought – he would have to get in contact with Dubois and tell him to organise security for prominent French politicians. It could not hurt to be cautious.

Having taken care of that he went out for a late lunch and then found that he was on his way to Victor’s place instead of going back to the embassy. He wasn’t even sure Victor would be home, but the maid that opened the door directed him to the library.

“Hullo,” Alexander said and bent down to kiss Victor. His lover sat on the couch, one of the scientific journals in his hands. He looked tired, a nasty bruise on his cheek, but at least he was smiling.

“What a lovely surprise. Don’t you have to work?”

“I took the afternoon off,” Alexander said and sat down beside him. “How are you?”

“Alright, I guess. Much better now.”

Alexander put his hand on Victor’s leg. “What happened yesterday?”

Victor put the journal aside and covered Alexander’s hand with his own. “A difference of opinion, that’s all. Morris wants to make an investment that I think is unwise.”

“And that’s why he physically assaults you?”

“I told you, he has a bad temper.”

“But ... how can you work with someone like that?”

“It’s not like I have much choice at the moment,” Victor said. “Do not worry, Alexander. It is kind of you to do so, but I can take care of myself. And if all goes as I hope it will, I won’t have to deal with Morris for much longer.”

“That sounds quite ominous,” Alexander said. The maid came in at that moment and brought a tray with coffee and little cakes, setting it down on a table.

“I haven’t seen her around before,” Alexander noted when she had left.

“I like to take care of as much as I can myself. I value my privacy. But a few days a week I have some help – well, I wouldn’t do the dusting for example,” he chuckled. “Will you stay the night?”

“Of course.”

“You know, you should just move out of your hotel. You can stay here for as long as you want.”

“I ...,” he wondered if it was a bad sign that he wanted to say yes. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

Victor studied him for a moment, but then just nodded. “You can still keep some clothes here if you like.”

Now Alexander chuckled. “That is an offer I will take you up on gladly.”

The next two days passed in much the same manner. Dubois had promised to install security measures as much as it was possible, Alexander met with a number of his contacts and in the evenings went to Victor’s, spending the nights with him. On Thursday there was a note waiting for him when he went to his hotel in the late afternoon – apparently Margaret had tried to call. He did not have time to call back, having another appointment with one of his informants in half an hour.

Once more the man had chosen a very stereotypical meeting place, a bench in one of the cemeteries. Alexander had bought a croissant on the way and now enjoyed it as he waited for his contact. He was late again and sat down without a greeting.

“I have names,” he said.

“Of another organisation or ...?”

“No, of members of Thrush,” he said quite annoyed. “But first I want my money.”

Alexander chuckled. “Alright. I will give you the first half now and if I can confirm your information, then you will get the rest. Does that sound fair?”

The man grumbled something Alexander could not quite catch, but he stretched out his hand anyway. When he had put the money away, he turned to Alexander. “You know them actually. The Le Goffs.”

“Who?” Alexander tried to think of anyone he had met so far in Paris, but he couldn’t remember that name at all.

“The actresses,” the man specified. “Esme and Manon Le Goff. They are Thrush.”

“Are you sure?” Alexander asked sharply.

“Yes. Completely. According to my information, they harboured those criminals for a while.”

Alexander breathed out slowly. “The ladies with the pink hair ...,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Nothing. Alright, I will get back to you when I have confirmed this. Anything else you have for me?”

“No,” the man got up and nodded in greeting, before he left the way he had come.

He slowly walked back to the embassy, trying to wrap his mind around it. That he had been so close to what he was looking for, had even been kissed by and flirted with them … It was a strange thought. And even stranger – what about Victor? Surely, just because he was friends with Esme and Manon did not mean that he was implicated as well. And still … he would be doing a bad job if he didn’t at least consider the possibility, no matter what his heart said about the matter. Perhaps, another request for information was the best way to go. Victor worked for the French government, Dubois should have no problem to get his file. And then, he would know for sure that Victor was innocent.


	7. 12. – 13.01.1911

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a tiny bit of French in this chapter, which my dear friend Bee (https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dibee/pseuds/Beezarre) checked for me. You can hover over it or find the translation at the end.

It was already getting dark when he reached the embassy. The first thing he did was to call Girard, who luckily was still in his office.

“I see. We should act quickly.”

“Yes,” Alexander agreed.

“Where are they at the moment?”

“Probably at the theatre. They are doing **‘** Midsummer Night’s Dream’ at the Réjane.”

“Where do they live?”

“I’m afraid I do not know.”

“Then we will arrest them at the theatre, after the performance.”

“We should try to do it quietly and not to make a scene.”

“Yes. Let’s meet in an hour, I’ll have everything organised till then.”

“There is one other thing ...,” Alexander hesitated. “Ah, actually, I can take care of that myself.”

“Alright. Until then.”

Alexander phoned Captain Kell to inform him of the development and to ask for another contact. Kell gave him a number and after he had called that, he sent a note to Victor, telling him he couldn’t make it that evening.

When he got to the theatre the performance had already started, but he persuaded the doorman to let him slip in, finding an empty seat in the back. He felt agitated and was lost in his own thoughts, not even the beauty of the familiar verses able to calm him.

He hoped that he had made the right decision. But asking Girard – and by extension Dubois – for information about Victor would put their attention on him. And, despite his own doubts and fears, Alexander did not want to pull Victor into this matter just yet. He would have to question Esme and Manon of course, but perhaps he could do it without his French colleagues noticing.

Finally the intermission came and he went out into the lobby, where he spotted Girard at one of the windows.

“They are here,” he said after they had greeted each other.

Girard nodded. “I organised one of the safe houses for them. We can hold them there for the interrogation. If they are part of Thrush we need to be careful.”

“I agree.”

They stood in silence after that, until the bell rang. “Do you want to go in again?” Girard asked. “We will get them from their dressing room when they get off the stage.”

“I’ll join you when it’s time,” Alexander said.

The rest of the play he did manage to lose himself in the performance and the time passed quite quickly. He left the room before the curtain fell and made it to the back of the theatre, where Girard stood with two grim looking fellows and a nervous looking man.

“Monsieur Jacques, the manager,” Girard commented. “He’ll show us the way.”

The manager led them deeper into the building and finally down a corridor, where they stopped at a door.

“Nous pouvons attendre à l’intérieur,” the manager said. “Leur dressing est en face,” he pointed at it. “Ils devraient être ici bientôt.”

They all went into the small storage closet. It was another five minutes before they could hear Esme and Manon coming to their dressing room. Girard and his colleagues went in after them, Alexander staying back. When they came out, Manon and Esme were still in their costumes, though they had taken off their wigs and put on coats. Esme was crying and Manon had put an arm around her protectively. They both startled when they saw Alexander and rushed towards him.

“Alexander, you’ve got to help us!” Manon took his arm. “This is madness!”

“I’m afraid there is nothing I can do,” Alexander said softly. “Don’t make a fuss, or you’ll just make it harder on yourself.”

They stared at him for a long moment. “I see,” Manon hissed. She grabbed Esme’s hand and turned, Girard gesturing for them to walk in front of him. There was not another word said as they left the theatre through a back door, the manager staring after them as they piled into the waiting car and drove off.

The house was in the outskirts of town, actually not far from the place where the British criminals had been arrested, as Girard informed Alexander. From the outside it looked like a perfectly quaint family home and it was just that at the inside as well, minus the family. The women were brought downstairs into the cellar and Girard and Alexander went into the living room.

“How do you propose to go about it?” Girard asked. “You know them.”

“Not that well,” Alexander replied. “I’ve only met them a few times. I think ... well, they are soulmates. We should separate them. And maybe that’s what we should use on them as well – the threat of separation.”

Girard nodded. “I’ll talk to them first. Then you can have a go,” he glanced at his watch. “The Commandant should be here soon as well.”

“I’ll receive him,” Alexander said.

“Good,” Girard stood up, straightening his jacket. “Let’s see how sensible they are.”

Dubois arrived about twenty minutes later, looking out of breath. “What an exciting turn of events,” he boomed at Alexander, shaking his hand. “I’ve heard of those two birds, they are said to be quite the talent.”

“I enjoyed their performance,” Alexander said as they sat down in the armchairs.

“Yes. How did you meet them, by the way?”

“At a party. Esme and Manon are agreeable conversationalists, but there is nothing more to our acquaintance.”

“And your source is a trustworthy one?”

“It has been so far,” Alexander said. “And there is also something James Notts said about the ladies who sheltered him and the others. Though it is not hard evidence, it does fit the picture.”

Dubois nodded slowly. “Girard is with them?”

“Yes. If he doesn’t succeed, I will try. We also talked about separating them to get them to talk.”

“That is always a good idea.”

“Say,” Alexander hesitated a moment, but spoke on. “You wouldn’t use any of your friendly methods on them? They are ladies, after all.”

“My dear Waverly,” Dubois sat up straight. “Of course not! Not only are they ladies, the crime they are accused of would not warrant such things. James Notts was a very different matter.”

“I apologise,” Alexander said.

“Not at all,” Dubois waved it off. “I suppose separating them will be cruel enough,” he stood up and went to a cabinet. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you.” Alexander watched as the Commandant poured himself a whiskey. At that moment, Girard came in, saluting Dubois.

“Did they talk?” Dubois asked after greeting him.

“No,” Girard shook his head. “Esme is very frightened and Manon has only stared daggers at me.”

“I guess it’s my turn then,” Alexander got up.

First, he went to Esme. The room only had a table and two chairs and she was sitting huddled into her coat, a cup of tea in front of her.

As she looked up at him he could see she had been crying. “What’s happening? What are you doing here?”

Alexander took the second chair and sat down, taking the time to gather his thoughts. “I assume Sous-lieutenant Girard told you what is happening and why you are here. As to my being here ... I only want some information from you, that is all.”

“But ... Victor said you are a clerk!”

“In essence that is what I am,” Alexander smiled at her. “Listen, Esme ... this does not have to be hard. I just want to know everything you can tell me about Thrush and the men that you sheltered a few weeks ago.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know anything. Which I told the Lieutenant. There is nothing else I can tell you,” she hugged herself. “Can I see Manon?”

“No,” Alexander sighed. “I’m afraid that is not possible. I do not know what exactly Girard has told you, but let me explain your situation to you again,” he tapped his fingers on the table. “You are accused of sheltering criminals. That will mean prison. If you talk now and tell us everything we want to know, it will be one of the nicer ones – and you’ll be imprisoned together with your wife.”

She stared at him and he could tell she was understanding.

“If not, well, you’ll be locked up separately. It’s as simple as that.”

Now she started crying again, silent sobs that shook her whole body. He got out a handkerchief and offered it to her, putting it on the table when she did not take it. Getting up he straightened his shirt. “Think about it. There is nothing you can gain by staying silent.” With those words he left her.

Manon sat with her arms crossed and yes, the look she gave him could have killed. “What have you done to Esme? Why is she so upset?”

“You have been arrested and are being kept in an undisclosed location. Is that not enough reason to be upset?” Alexander asked while he sat down.

“Don’t joke about it!” she snapped

“Alright. I only explained the situation you two are in to her.”

“Which is?”

“Talk and you’ll go to prison together. Don’t talk, you will go to prison separately.”

She pressed her mouth into a thin line.

“Manon, you are an intelligent woman. What could you possibly gain by protecting some British criminals? All you have to do is to tell me about Thrush and the men you let stay with you.”

“I do not know anything. We haven’t done anything,” she said. “We would never associate knowingly with criminals.”

“And yet ...”

“What kind of proof do you have anyway?”

“You have been named. And one of the criminals, he described you very accurately. So, I have two sources implicating Esme and you.”

“It’s a lie. I don’t get ...” she took a deep breath. “Does Victor know what you do?”

“He knows I work for the embassy,” Alexander shrugged.

“You know, he really ...,” she shook her head. “He won’t forgive you if he finds out.”

“Why do you assume that I care?” Alexander said with a small smile. “Alright, I’ll see if Esme has changed her mind. That will give you some time to think this through,” he got up. When the door had closed again, he felt relief – Manon’s presence had unsettled him and he needed a moment to slow down his breathing.

Esme had stopped crying when he came in. This time, he just leaned against the door.

“Manon told you the same as I did,” she said, her voice slightly shaking. “We don’t know anything. We haven’t done anything.”

Alexander sighed. “Alright. If this is how you want to play it,” he turned and left again. Upstairs, he found Girard and Dubois talking quietly.

“We need to separate them now. Being so close together, they take too much comfort in their connection. And they can tell if the other has talked or not.”

“I take it you were not successful?” Dubois asked.

“Not yet,” Alexander replied. “Can we move Esme?”

“Yes, of course,” Girard got up. “I made the call while you were downstairs. It’s all organised.”

Esme was crying all the way to the second location on the other side of the city. She was put into a cell in an allegedly unused police station. Girard would stay with her and the Commandant with Manon. They would let them stew for a few hours before resuming the interrogation.

It was already in the early hours of the morning when everything was settled and Alexander took a carriage back to his hotel, looking forward to getting a few hours of rest. With the help of two glasses of whiskey he managed to fall asleep quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Nous pouvons attendre à l’intérieur,” the manager said. “Leur dressing est en face,” he pointed at it. “Ils devraient être ici bientôt.” – “We can wait in here,” the manager said. “Their dressing room is on the other side,” he pointed at it. “They should be here soon.”


	8. 13.01.1911

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read and left kudos so far! Half of the story is done and in this chapter a lot will happen. Enjoy!

He was woken up by a loud and persistent knocking on the door. Stumbling he somehow managed to find his clothes and when he had put them on, opened the door. “Yes?” he croaked, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Alexander, we need to talk,” Victor pushed inside.

“Alright ... just let me ...,” Alexander mumbled and went over to the table, pouring himself a glass of water which he downed in one go. “What’s going on?” he turned to Victor, noting his frantic look and dishevelled appearance.

“Esme and Manon have been arrested last night.”

“Oh,” Alexander cleared his throat, hoping that his reaction seemed genuine enough. “Do you know why?”

“No. I tried to ask around, but no one knows anything. I was hoping you could make some inquiries at the embassy, or maybe someone there knows something ...” Victor said. He was studying Alexander with an intense look.

“Of course I will. But do you really think there could be a reason why the British government would be interested in them?

“No, but I’m desperate,” Victor shrugged helplessly. “And I was hoping you would help me,” he stepped close and touched Alexander’s arm.

“Of course I will,” Alexander said earnestly. He met Victor’s gaze for a long moment. “I will call you if I find out something, alright? But you have to understand, I don’t have access to a lot of things – if this is a serious matter, I may not be told.”

Victor nodded slowly and stepped back, Alexander instantly missing his touch.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it then,” without another look Victor left the room.

Alexander made a quick stop at the embassy, finding a message waiting for him. Apparently Victor’s file was easily accessible and showed a clean and spotless record – his contact noting that it seemed too pristine altogether.

Girard was sleeping in the tiny office opposite Esme’s cell, his head on the table.

“Good morning,” Alexander said. He put down a bag with croissants and a cup of tea.

“Morning,” Girard blinked up at him, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“11 am. Any developments?”

Girard shook his head, taking one of the pastries.

“I’ll go and talk to her again then,” he took the second cup of tea he had prepared and went to the cell, nodding to the guard who opened the door. This room did not have a table or chairs, only a narrow bed and a pot in a corner.

“Good morning, Esme,” Alexander said. She had been sleeping, but now sat up, reaching for the cup and croissant he offered her.

“Where’s Manon?” she asked after having taken a sip.

“Still where we left her,” Alexander said. She glared at him as she started eating. He waited patiently until she was done and set the cup down on the floor

“Have you thought about what I said?” he asked.

“Yes. I cannot tell you anything.”

“I thought so,” Alexander nodded. “Does your loyalty to Victor really outweigh your love for Manon?”

She startled at his words and he breathed out slowly. So Victor was a part of it after all.

“And what about your love for him?” she said, meeting his gaze.

“I’m not the one locked up,” he said softly. “This is not about me. It’s about Manon and you.”

She shook her head and then covered her face in her hands.

“Did he ask you to shelter those men as a favour?” Alexander asked. “Surely you are not a part of Thrush yourself. Perhaps you don’t really know what it is because he would want to protect you from it as much as possible, would he not? He does cares for you, after all.”

“Do you promise that I will be with Manon?” she asked quietly, her voice wavering.

“Yes, I promise.”

“I don’t know anything about Thrush,” she said. “Those men – Victor asked for our help. I hated them, they were so ... vulgar. I was glad when Victor organised another house for them.”

“And do you know why they were here?”

She shook her head.

“But Victor knows?”

She shrugged.

“And Sebastian Morris? At the party, what you told me about him, you do not like him. Is he a part of this?”

She hugged herself and shook her head again. “I do not know. Maybe. I just know that I cannot stand him and neither can Victor.”

“Alright,” Alexander sighed. He had no idea how to proceed. Victor was a part of this, and perhaps Morris as well, so they had to arrest them, hadn’t they? That was the job, that was what he was here to do. And yet ... He pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against. “If Manon confirms what you said, then you’ll be back together soon.”

Girard was waiting for him when he came outside.

“The distance helped,” Alexander said. “They sheltered the criminals.”

“Good,” Girard nodded. “Does she know anything else?”

Alexander shook his head. “No. According to her, they are not a part of Thrush, which so far I am inclined to believe.”

“Then how did they get involved in this?”

“There is ... someone that I need to look into. Will you give me the rest of the day?” Alexander asked. “I will talk to Manon again and then I will take care of this matter. I will have an answer for you at the end of the day.”

Girard did not look happy at his words, but nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But you’ll report to the Commandant and me in the evening.”

He took his time on his way back to the first location, having opted to walk the last bit of the way. It was cold, a fine drizzle making the streets look eerily beautiful. The fresh air helped to clear his head, to fight off the sick feeling in his stomach. So what if Victor was a part of it? If he was perhaps even a driving force behind it? They had known each other for two weeks, which was nothing. Victor was nothing to him. He needed to concentrate and get this job done. Anything else did not matter.

“Your wife talked,” he said, sitting down. He pushed a mug of tea towards Manon, which she did not take. “Apparently she loves you that much.”

She cursed and then leaned back. “What if I don’t believe you?”

Alexander shrugged. “You know her better than I do. She told me that Victor asked you to harbour those men. But she also said that you two are not a part of Thrush, that you don’t know anything about it,” he smiled lightly. “The fact is, you two are not our goal. You should make use of that.”

“Is Victor your goal?” she asked sharply.

“If he is Thrush, then yes.”

“How can you say that so calmly? As if he does not matter to you at all?”

“What matters to me is the job I have to do,” he said. “And at the moment that job is to bring down Thrush.”

She crossed her arms. “Then what are you here for? Esme has told you everything, hasn’t she? There is nothing I can add to it.”

“Alright. Perhaps my French colleagues can get some more details out of you,” he stood up to leave.

It was already late in the afternoon when he approached Victor’s house. There had been a message from the ambassador about Sebastian Morris. Apparently the man had left the city a couple of days ago. He felt nervous as he climbed the stairs, not sure if this was a good idea, not sure what else he could do.

Victor opened. “Alexander,” he pulled him inside and into the parlour. “Are there any news?”

“I asked around,” Alexander said. “They are being held by the French police, but I could not find out why” he had rehearsed the words on his way here and they came easily. “I have been told that they are alright, but that is all I have learned.”

Victor studied him intensely.

“I will hopefully know more tomorrow,” Alexander said. “This just seems a delicate matter.”

“I see,” Victor said softly. “Thank you.”

“You look exhausted,” Alexander said and reached out to touch his arm.

Victor snorted. “I’m worried. I haven’t slept at all last night and today was just ...,” he shook his head. “Will you stay?”

This was not at all going how he had planned it, but if this was the last chance he had ... Alexander closed the distance between them for a kiss.

Victor had fallen asleep afterwards and Alexander sat on the edge of the bed, watching his chest rise and fall. He had left the room for a moment to retrieve a pair of handcuffs from his coat and now he reached out and chained Victor to the bed. His lover stirred and slowly blinked open his eyes.

“Alex? What’s going on?”

Alexander shook his head, retreating to the far corner of the bed.

“What’s this?” Victor pulled at the handcuffs. “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for such a game.”

“It’s not a game,” Alexander said quietly.

Victor stared at him. “You lied to me. Earlier. When you said you didn’t know about Esme and Manon. And this morning as well. I just thought … perhaps it was down to your bloody sense of duty. But that’s not exactly it, right?”

“They are alright,” Alexander said. “I can promise you that. For now we have separated them, but we’ll bring them back together soon. No harm has and will come to them.”

“Who are you?” Victor’s voice sounded flat and he managed to sit up somehow, staring at Alexander.

“I work for a British government agency,” Alexander said. “I was sent to Paris to find out about the British criminals who came here a few weeks ago.”

Victor muttered a curse.

“How are you involved with Thrush? It is a British organisation, is it not?”

“Who told you that?”

“James Notts.”

“That bastard,” Victor spat. “No, it is not a British organisation. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.”

“What does that mean?”

Victor did not reply.

“Listen, I will bring you in. You’ll be interrogated. We’ll learn everything anyway, but you can make it easier on yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

“You just did,” Alexander sighed. “Is Morris a part of it? Your row in the library, that was about Thrush?”

“You don’t understand anything,” Victor said. “And you can’t bring me in.”

“And why is that?” Alexander asked.

“Because,” Victor said, “we are bound to each other. Have you not yet realised?”

“Realised what?” Alexander got up, staring down at Victor.

“I knew,” Victor said, meeting his gaze. “I knew the moment I saw you. Everything else was just a confirmation. And then, a few nights ago, you said them ...”

“I said what?” Alexander asked sharply.

“You don’t understand. Thrush could do great things, if guided in the right direction. Morris is too old, too stubborn, too blinded. If I get rid of him, I can reform Thrush. I can build something magnificent.”

“I said what?”

“You said my words,” Victor said with a smile. “I could feel it, every letter etched into my skin.”

Alexander closed his eyes.

“Yours are somewhere on your ankle or your feet, are they not? That’s why you always wear socks.”

“It’s not true,” Alexander said, hoping against all odds that his words would be able to somehow change reality. He opened his eyes again.

“But it is,” Victor shrugged. “Even if I haven’t said your words yet, you can still feel it, can’t you? That pull, that attraction – well, I know you can feel that –, that love. I love you, Alexander. And you love me.”

“I love Margaret,” he said weakly.

“You tell yourself that, but you know it’s not true,” Victor pulled at the cuffs again. “Take those off, then we can talk. You want Thrush? Fine, I’ll give you Morris. You know who he is, right? It’s not exactly subtle, the name he chose for himself.”

Alexander stared at him, the thought suddenly in his mind. “That ... cannot be true. He was arrested, was he not? On the charge of murder.”

“And escaped,” Victor shrugged. “We can bring him down together.”

“And then what? Then you reform Thrush? Into what?”

“Into ...,” Victor hesitated.

“See, I do not believe that good can come out of bad things. Whatever you intend to do with this organisation, it is nothing I could support or help with. I will bring down Morris and Thrush along with it. And if that means that I have to bring you down as well ...”

“Then do it,” Victor said. “Call the police. Have them take me in.”

Alexander turned on his heel, leaving the bedroom hurriedly. The phone was at the other end of the corridor, next to the entrance. He’d just have to call Girard ...

“We are still bound to each other!” Victor shouted after him. “Whatever you do, you cannot change that!”

He stumbled at the sudden pain on his left ankle and only by sheer instinct managed to steady himself against the wall, keeping himself from falling. The words resonated in his mind and he sat down heavily, pulling away his trouser and sock to stare at the black sprawling letters. Hesitantly he touched them, finding them normal – even though it felt as if they were burning. Slowly he got up again, wincing as he set his foot down. It seemed he had twisted his ankle, but right now he could not pay that any attention. Right now he had to ... he stood in front of the telephone, willing himself to reach out, finding that he couldn’t. Eventually, he turned and careful not to put any weight on his left foot left the flat.


	9. 13. – 14.01.1911

_He should have known. He should have known. He should have known._ The thought was pounding in his head as he walked down the street, not caring where he went as long as he was moving, despite his hurting ankle.

Victor was right, he had felt that attraction, that pull, from the very first moment he had laid eyes on him and the more days had passed the stronger it had grown. It was just that he had never questioned those feelings, never thought that they could have this particular reason. There was no place for a soulmate in his life and so he had not thought of Victor in this way, had not looked for his words even when they had been exploring each other’s bodies.

But now it was Victor, who was a criminal and he could feel his heart breaking as the events of the evening replayed in his mind, of how they had made love and then of their fight ...

He knew what he had to do. He had a duty to his country, to his work, and he would not dishonour that. As he waved for a carriage, he thought of his parents. As a child he had never understood why they fought so much and only later, as a teenager and then a young man, he had slowly seen them as they really were. His father, manipulative and prone to anger, and his mother, who had sought comfort with other people. Just because two people were soulmates did not mean that they were right for each other – it only meant that they could hurt each other even deeper.

Dubois and Girard were back at the house where they held Manon. Alexander found them in the living room, going over some reports, which they closed as he came in. He sat down heavily on the couch, accepting their offer of a drink. Only when he had finished the whiskey, he spoke.

“I have two names,” he met their eyes as calmly as he could. “Esme gave them to me, Manon confirmed them – and I have just confirmed them myself.”

“Who is it then?” Dubois asked.

He hesitated for just a second. “Victor Marton and Sebastian Morris.”

“I have heard of the latter,” Dubois said thoughtfully.

“And I of the former,” Girard added. “He is friends with Esme and Manon. And you have been seen with him.”

“Yes,” Alexander said. “We have met socially a few times.”

“You said you confirmed he is a part of Thrush ... does that mean you talked with him about it? Does he know you suspect him?”

“I have his address,” Alexander said. “And I have information that Morris is out of town at the moment. I also know Morris’s true identity.”

Girard furrowed his brow, but Dubois asked, “Which is?”

“Remember when we talked about the detective stories?” Alexander asked back. “Well, there is a famous Sebastian in them.”

“Oh,” Dubois exclaimed. “I say!”

“What’s that address then?” Girard asked.

Alexander told him, after which Girard hurriedly left the room. They could hear him pick up the telephone and talk rapidly.

“I want to talk to Manon again, or Esme – we need to find out if the escaped criminal was Morris. From James Notts’s description I would not be surprised.”

Dubois nodded. “You can talk to Manon. We are moving Esme and her to another location tomorrow. Now, say ... did you warn that Marton fellow?”

Alexander shifted in his seat, wishing for a second drink. “I have told you everything I know now. We had become ... friends.”

“Did you know him before coming to Paris?”

Alexander shook his head. “No. But if my actions compromised anything, I will accept the consequences.”

Dubois huffed. “Well, one thing you need in this job and which people like to overlook is a heart, when it’s appropriate. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that it was. Consequences we do not need to concern ourselves with until it’s time for them.”

“Thank you,” Alexander said, not quite able to hide his surprise.

“I was young once,” Dubois shrugged and then looked up at Girard, who had rushed in again.

“We have officers moving to the location now. If we hurry, we can be there when they arrive.”

Dubois got up, looking at Alexander questioningly.

“I’ll talk to Manon,” he said. “The flat is on the right of the fourth floor.”

The escaped revolutionary was not Sebastian Morris, or so Manon said. Alexander was not sure if he could trust her, but it was safer to assume that both Morris and the missing man were out there.

He had a second and third drink while he waited for news and finally, an hour after they had left, Girard and Dubois came back. Alexander stood in the door of the living room as Girard let Victor past. Their eyes met for a moment and there was a bitter smile on Victor’s lips as he looked away.

“He was just about to leave. Had a suitcase packed and everything,” Dubois commented, joining Alexander. He nodded absent-mindedly. In the moment their eyes had met, he had felt it so clearly – the hurt, the hatred ... and the love that were beating through Victor’s veins. He wondered if Victor had felt that same shock, that same clarity.

“Waverly? I asked what Manon said?”

“Oh? Yes, I apologise. They are not the same man apparently.”

Dubois nodded. “Well, you go and get some sleep. We’ll start the interrogation in the morning. I suppose you do not wish to conduct it?”

“I would rather not,” Alexander said. “I think I will concentrate my efforts on Morris.”

“Alright. Then we’ll try to find out from your friend what this plan was and if we still have to worry about it.”

He only slept for a few hours that night and felt like he had not slept at all when he made his way to the office. At least his ankle did not hurt that much any more.

First, he called London. A file on Morris was apparently on its way to Paris and Captain Kell had been able to confirm the true identity of the man. He also said that according to their information Morris was not in London or Great Britain. Next, Alexander tried to arrange for a meeting with the ambassador, but was told that he was out of town for the weekend. He made a few calls to informants and contacts, but no one could tell him anything about Morris’s whereabouts. So, in lieu of anything else to do, he caught up with his paperwork, which he had neglected lately.

Only late in the afternoon he went back to the house, where he was greeted by Girard.

“We moved Esme and Manon to a prison. There is a court date in a few weeks, but I think they will probably get off lightly.”

Alexander nodded, glad that Girard spoke on, that he didn’t have to ask.

“Victor Marton is not talking to us. All he says is that he wants to speak with you,” Girard regarded him calmly, but Alexander could feel the tension behind his words. He had no good reason, no excuse to say no, and so he just nodded.

“Where are you holding him?”

“Downstairs. Where we held Esme.”

Somehow Victor managed to look like he had just gotten up after a delicious lunch and a good nap, even his clothes barely wrinkled – only his moustache was not curled properly. He held himself upright, watching Alexander intently as he came in and sat down in the opposite chair.

Alexander could not bring himself to meet his gaze. He already felt like he was suffocating, being so close to Victor, again sensing a confusing mix of emotions, anger, an icy calm and ... joy, and at that he finally looked up.

“I’m glad to see you,” Victor said quietly.

“Are you?” Alexander asked, not able to stop himself.

“Yes. I realise I asked too much of you. We may be bound to each other, but we only met two weeks ago. That is not enough time to build trust.”

Alexander slowly shook his head. “I would – could – never trust a criminal.”

Victor chuckled. “No, you are righteous, are you not? And yet, you do not know even half of it and still you think you can judge.”

“Tell me then. Make me understand.”

Another chuckle and Victor leaned back in the chair, rolling his shoulders. “I’m not dumb, you know?”

“What was your plan? With the British men? One of them escaped, is he still working on it?”

Victor slowly shook his head.

“Meaning he isn’t or you are not telling?”

A shrug was the only answer.

“You wanted to talk to me,” Alexander said, “so talk to me.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you,” Victor purred. He leaned forward again and reached over the table. Now Alexander leaned back, away from that sudden urge of desire radiating from Victor.

“You won’t be able to just ... forget me, you know that, right?” Victor said. “They’ll put me in a prison somewhere. And you will have to continue with your life, knowing that I am, that your chance for happiness is rotting away.”

“How very dramatic.”

“It really is. Tragic, even. You’ll marry that fiancée of yours, but she won’t be me. You’ll always wonder. You are wondering right now, after all. And you really want to reach out to touch me.”

“You say I don’t know half of it. Well, neither do you,” Alexander pointed out, getting up. “If you have nothing to say, then we are done talking.”

“We are not finished,” Victor said sharply, but then, he sighed. “Alright, I’ll give you something. To prove the sincerity of my intentions.”

“What’s that, then?” Alexander crossed his arms.

“Fedya has a little chalet two hours outside of Paris. I think you should pay it a visit.”

“Fedya ...? The British ambassador’s wife?”

“Oui.”

“What has she got to do with anything?”

“That you have to find out yourself,” Victor smirked. “I can’t do all of your work for you, can I?”

“You are impossible!” Alexander snapped and hurriedly left the room, having to steady himself against the wall as the door fell shut. The guard looked at him questioningly, but Alexander just waved him off. He would not speak to Victor again, no matter what Girard or Dubois thought of him. He would finish this business as quickly as possible and then, finally, go home.


	10. 14. – 15.01.1911

“What has she got to do with anything?” Dubois asked, quite taken aback by Alexander’s report.

“He would not say,” Alexander said. “But ... I do have a suspicion. Victor does not agree with Sebastian Morris’s leadership and wants to bring him down. I suspect that whatever we will find in that chalet will be to that effort.”

“Do you know what you are implying?” Dubois huffed. “This is a very delicate matter.”

“I do know. Even if it is not true, the implication alone ... nevertheless, we have to follow up on it.”

“You could talk to the ambassador,” Girard suggested.

“He is not in town at the moment. Besides, I don’t think that is the right step to take, especially if it’s true. We should talk to her first.”

“Alright,” Dubois stood up and clapped his hands together. “There is something Sous-lieutenant Girard and I have to take care of this evening. Waverly, you’ll find out where she is at the moment and tomorrow morning we will fetch you and drive to that chalet.”

“Alright,” Alexander nodded. “And Victor?”

“He can stew some more,” Dubois said. “We don’t even know yet if he was helpful, after all.”

Alexander went back to his office in the embassy, determined to work himself into exhaustion. From one of the clerks he got the information that Fedya was not in Paris as well, but had not left the city with her husband.

It was already past nine when he went back to his hotel and, after a quick dinner in the restaurant, collapsed into bed.

The next morning came all too soon and after a quick shower and dressing hastily he made his way down to the lobby, to have at least a coffee before his French colleagues would pick him up.

He was just about to enter the restaurant when someone clasped his arm from behind. He turned and before he could say anything, she hugged him tight, her shoulders trembling.

“Margaret,” he breathed out softly and then returned the hug, overwhelmed to suddenly have her in his arms. He had not given her much thought the last few days, if at all – he had meant to call, but Victor had taken all of his attention. But now she was here and as she drew back from him she was smiling at him brightly. Surely, everything would be forgiven.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, taking her hands.

“I left you a message, but you didn’t call back. I got worried and thought ... after we last spoke, I felt horrible.”

“So did I,” he admitted and then nodded at the restaurant. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, please. I took the night train and could barely sleep.”

They found a free table at one of the tall windows and Alexander ordered coffee and croissants, which were brought quickly.

“I’m afraid that I may have to leave soon. I’m waiting for some colleagues.”

“Of course, you have to work, I understand. Are you making progress?”

He nodded. “I cannot tell you any details, but we made a few arrests and are now in a critical phase.”

She smiled at him, sipping her coffee. “I’m sorry then, I do not mean to distract you.”

“You were right,” he said. “When you said I treat my work as more important than you ... but it is not and I am sorry that I made you feel this way.”

“It’s still important,” she drew a shaky breath. “But thank you, for saying that.”

“And I’m sorry I did not call you back. I got swept up by everything going on here.”

“We did get your parcel. Ernest was very excited about it. And it made me hope that not all is lost.”

“It isn’t. How long will you stay?”

“I got a week off work.”

“I do hope to have some more time soon. And hopefully we can do something nice on Tuesday.”

“I would love that.”

“For now ...,” he reached into his pocket and handed her the key to his room. “So you can get some sleep. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone today, but I probably won’t be back before the evening.”

“Then I’ll take a walk later. I’ll be fine.”

Alexander glanced at the door, seeing Girard waving for him. “There is my colleague,” he got up and bent down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you for coming,” he said softly, “it makes me really happy that you are here.”

Dubois and Girard were discussing an unrelated matter in French for most of the drive, which left Alexander with a lot of time to stare out of the window and think. What he had told Margaret was true: she was more important than his job. Or at least it had been in the moment he said it. And he was happy that she was here, a solid presence, a clear path for him to take. It had not mattered before that she didn’t make his heart skip a beat every time he looked at her. That when he talked to her, it didn’t feel like the sun was bursting in his chest. That she didn’t set his blood on fire. It had not mattered and it did not matter now. He did love her, he appreciated her. They would be good together – all he had to do was to forget Victor.

The chalet was outside a little village, picturesquely situated in a valley. There were two cars parked in the driveway as they arrived and Alexander felt strangely calm as he and Dubois walked towards the door, Girard making his way to the back of the house.

Alexander knocked and a few moments later the door was opened by the lady of the house herself.

“Mister Waverly?” she greeted him, a deep frown on her forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning ... this is my colleague, Commandant Dubois from the Deuxième Bureau. May we come in for a moment?”

“Yes, of course. Please,” she opened the door and guided them to a drawing room, where they sat down. “Would you like some tea?” She rang a bell and gave a few instructions to a maid.

“We are here on a quite ... delicate matter and I hope we will not give any cause for offence,” Alexander said when the maid had left.

“I’m sure you won’t,” she smiled at them. “I do understand your work is very important, so whatever I can do to help ...”

“Has your husband told you about Trush?”

Her smile did not falter. “No. He does not discuss his work with me often. What is it?”

“It’s a criminal organisation,” Dubois said. “We have arrested one of its members, who has named a British citizen as another.”

“Someone I would know?”

“It has been suggested we should come here.”

“I do not understand, Mister Waverly.”

“Do you know a man called Sebastian Morris? Is it his car outside?”

“I have never heard that name.”

“No? Your husband knows him.”

“That doesn’t mean I know him as well.”

At that moment there was a commotion outside, loud thumping and a muffled scream. She looked at the tall French windows in alarm and Alexander and Dubois got to their feet, rushing to look outside.

Girard’s nose was bleeding, but he had his gun drawn on a man struggling to get back up. Alexander breathed out slowly. So they had been right after all.

They handcuffed Morris and manhandled him into the car. Alexander stayed behind to talk to Fedya for a moment.

“I promise you that neither me nor my colleagues will tell anyone about this.”

She nodded curtly. “I had no knowledge of this criminal organisation. My only crime is unfaithfulness.”

“And that is something you have to deal with yourself,” Alexander said, his voice soft.

Another curt nod and with that he was dismissed.

The drive back to the city was uncomfortable. Morris sat handcuffed to Girard in the back seat, staring broodily out of the window. They did not talk a word for the whole two hours.

Arriving at the headquarters of the Deuxième Bureau, Dubois quickly arranged for officers to take Morris into custody. Girard accompanied them and Alexander was just taking his leave when Dubois was approached by an officer, who talked far too quickly for Alexander to understand. He only caught Victor’s name.

“What’s going on?”

Dubois’s face was grim. “Marton escaped two hours ago.”

Alexander stared at him in disbelief.

“You’ll let me know when you hear something, yes? I need to look into the matter.”

“Of course. Whatever I can do to help,” Alexander said, glad that his voice remained firm.

Dubois nodded and then turned, hurrying inside the building.


	11. 15. – 17.01.1911

After having phoned London to give his report, Alexander went back to his hotel, where he found Margaret having tea in the lobby.

“Alex, there you are,” she beamed at him. “I was just contemplating going on another walk, as long as the sun is still out ...,” she trailed off, eyeing him critically. “Are you alright?”

He sat down beside her and shrugged, knowing that he could not share anything. “It was ... an eventful day. It doesn’t matter. Let’s go for this walk, shall we?”

She did not look convinced at all, but linked her arm with his as they got up and went outside.

When they came back, having had dinner in a small restaurant near the Seine, Alexander stopped abruptly at the bottom of the stairs that led to his room.

“What’s wrong?” Margaret asked.

“We need to ... I totally forgot. We need to get you a room, I do hope they still have free ones ...”

“There is a big bed in yours,” she said, a small smile on her lips.

“Yes, but ...”

“Alex,” she took his hand. “No one will know. Besides, we are engaged. We’ll sleep in the same bed soon anyway.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble,” he said meekly, already knowing that he had lost.

She just shrugged and pulled him along.

Monday morning saw him early at the headquarters of the Deuxième Bureau, where he tried for a fruitless half hour to get hold of Girard and Dubois. Finally, he was shown into Dubois’s office.

“Monsieur Waverly, good morning.”

“Commandant. Are there any news?”

Dubois shook his head. “One of the guards is missing, so we assume that he either was bribed or, which would be worse, another member of Thrush.”

“And Morris?”

“We have the strictest security measures. He is not talking, if that is your next question.”

“I’m not surprised. I will mobilise all our resources for the search of Victor Marton.”

“Girard can fill you in on the measures we are already taking.”

Alexander nodded. “We also need to discuss transferring Morris. My government wants him.”

“Yes, although I believe it would be wise to wait for a while. A transport of such an important prisoner is tricky business.”

“On the other hand, the sooner we do it, the less time Thrush would have to prepare anything. Just because Marton wanted to get rid of him doesn’t mean that he hasn’t any friends left.”

Dubois leaned back in his chair. “Indeed. But my government is very interested in learning about his plans here in France, so you’ll need to be a bit patient.”

“Well, I won’t ask you to hold back with him,” Alexander said with a wry smile. “Where can I find Girard?”

“I will tell him to call you at the embassy, he is out at the moment.”

“Thank you.”

Girard’s call came in the afternoon. Alexander had already set a few things in motion and they spent a good twenty minutes talking about their measures and what else they could do. It kept him busy for the rest of the day. On his way back to the hotel he picked up a present for Margaret. He hoped he would be able to leave work early the next day – she deserved to have a bit of a celebration. He was actually glad that she had come, her presence and quiet affection steadying him. Still, walking down the street towards the hotel he could not help but think about Victor. Where was he right now? What was he doing? Did he feel that same longing that Alexander could not quite eradicate? Stopping in his tracks he stared at a man that had suddenly pushed himself off the wall on the other side of the street – but the next moment a carriage drove past and when it was gone, the man had disappeared as well. Surely the fading light had only played a trick on him and it had not been Victor. He grabbed Margaret’s present tighter and hurried on.

The next morning was uneventful and so Alexander gladly put away his papers sometime before lunch to call it a day. He had already put on his coat and scarf when there was a sharp knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called.

Girard opened the door. “Monsieur Waverly, hello. Are you leaving?”

“Hello. Yes, I am. It’s my fiancée’s birthday and we wanted to visit the Louvre.”

“I do need to speak to you. Can you spare a moment?”

“Of course,” Alexander indicated a chair and got out of his coat again, sitting down himself.

“Commandant Dubois thinks highly of you,” Girard said after a tense moment of silence. “And ... I do believe you are trustworthy. But ...”

“But?”

“Marton has been spotted near your hotel. Considering that you only told us about his involvement half a day after you learned about it ...”

“Are you accusing me of working with him? Or for Thrush?”

“I am not accusing you of anything. That’s why I’m here. To talk to you about it. I think ... there is a connection between you.”

“I told Dubois, we had become friends.”

Girard shook his head. “It’s more than that. The way he talked about you ...”

“What do you want to hear? I did not choose this. And I will do everything I can to have this matter out of my life.”

“So ... there is something?”

Alexander scoffed and leaned down, pulling up his trousers and his left sock down. The black writing was stark against his pale skin.

“Oh, I did not think ...”

“I am engaged to be married this summer, to a woman that I love. Furthermore, my work is my life. A criminal, even if he is my soulmate, has no place in it.”

Girard was still staring at the words and then slowly looked up, meeting Alexander’s eyes. “I believe you. I needed to make sure, nevertheless.”

“I understand. I am well aware that I am in a precarious position.”

“Has he tried to contact you?”

“No,” Alexander shook his head. “I thought I saw him yesterday, but it was dark and the person was gone before I could have a proper look.”

“We should install some security measures, for your safety. Is ... Marton aware of your connection?”

Alexander nodded.

“Then I believe it is even more important. I do not mean to spoil your fiancée’s birthday, but will you allow me to send an officer to accompany you unobtrusively?”

“Of course,” Alexander said, well aware that it was a security measure that could be taken in two ways. “Whatever it takes.”

Girard promised to call the hotel when his officer was in position. Alexander first went to change into the suit he had bought a few days earlier and then joined Margaret for lunch in the hotel restaurant, where he also gave her the present. Margaret was, in general, down to earth and did not care much for frivolous things. But Alexander had thought that she deserved something nice and the way her face lit up as she saw the delicate silver necklace soothed his feeling of guilt at least a little bit.

They took their time, having some cheese and dessert after the main course and then Alexander was called out to the telephone, where Girard informed him that they could leave.

When he came back, Margaret was still at the table, but there was a frown on her face and she was holding something in her hand.

“My dear, what is it?” Alexander asked, leaning over her.

“Nothing, I think. A man approached me just now. He asked me to give you this.”

Alexander slowly took the paper she handed him and unfolded it. The writing was unfamiliar, at least on paper.

_3 pm, Palais Bourbon. Don’t be late._

At the bottom another sentence was scrawled:

_I’m still waiting for my chance to take you out of that suit._

“Is it something important?” Margaret asked.

“I ... believe so,” Alexander turned and scanned the room. “The man, which way did he go?”

She pointed at the service door at the other end of the hall. “Do you know him?”

He did not answer her, instead darting across the room. He thought there was someone just rounding the corner at the end of the hall as he pushed open the door. He had always been a good runner, but as he went around the corner he could only see a waiter coming his way. “L’homme, il est parti par où?” he shouted at him. 

The man only pointed at a door behind himself. Alexander gathered speed again, but stopped when he barged into the next room. The kitchen was big and busy, but at the other end he could see a door closing. Murmuring apologies he made his way across the room as quickly as possible. The door led to a little backyard, a locked gate and high walls suggesting that there was nowhere the man could have vanished to – but vanished he had.

Margaret was still in the restaurant, a stocky man at her side.

“Bonjour, my name is Pollard. Sous-lieutenant Girard sent me.”

“Yes, Monsieur. I need to call Girard now, if you will excuse me.”

Luckily Girard was still in his office. Alexander quickly told him about the note and Girard promised to inform Dubois and to get as many men as possible. Alexander was just about to leave the hotel when Margaret caught up with him, Pollard a step behind.

“I’m sorry, Margaret, but this is important. Monsieur Pollard will stay with you.”

“Are we in danger?” she grabbed his arm, her voice high.

“I cannot be sure. But I need to follow up on this. I know it’s your birthday, but I will make it up to you, alright?”

She met his gaze and then closed the distance between them for a kiss.

“Just hurry back.”

“I will. Monsieur Pollard, will you stay with Margaret?”

“Of course. Bonne chance!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L’homme, il est parti par où? – That man, where did he go?  
> Bonne chance! – Good luck!


	12. 17.01.1911

The Palais Bourbon was located south of the Seine, twenty minutes from his hotel. It was already half past three when Alexander got on a coach. The drive through the city felt agonizingly slow, even though he had promised the driver thrice the rate for going as fast as possible.

They reached the Place du Palais Bourbon with 14 minutes to spare and Alexander spent a few more orienting himself to find the entrance. Finally, he made it inside, a porter telling him the way. Racing through the mostly empty hallways he was aware of every second ticking by, every moment propelling him closer towards whatever Victor had in store for him.

There were guards in front of the doors that led into the assembly room and they seemed astonished that he had made it so far. Alexander could barely understand them with the blood pounding in his ears, and he could not think of the right words to explain the situation – to be fair, it would not have been easy in English as well, but he just could not make himself understood in French. One of the guards grabbed his arm and made to march him off, when a voice cut through the hallway: “Attendez! Libérez cet homme!”

Alexander turned towards it, overjoyed at seeing Girard, a few officers trailing behind him. He did not catch much of the ensuing conversation, but finally the guards stepped aside and opened one of the doors.

“Do you have any idea what this is about?” Girard whispered as they quietly went inside, emerging at the left of the room. The podium was to their right, a man holding a speech. Among the people sitting behind him, listening intently, he thought he recognized Aristide Briand, the Prime Minister. The rows of seats stretched up into the room, filled to the brim, even the balconies full of people.

Alexander shook his head. They would have to clear the whole space, but it was already a minute to three.

“We need to get everyone out,” Alexander whispered back.

Girard eyed the room doubtfully, but suddenly a loud bang rang out. There was a ripple of laughter as Alexander whirled around to the podium. The noise had come from inside the room, from up on the balcony, and he reacted before he could think – taking the steps to the podium in one stride and pulling Briand down with him. The Prime Minister stared at him in shock, while Alexander yelled at the speaker to get down. Then, a second shot rang out and this time there was screaming as the man who had been sitting beside Briand cried out: “Je suis touché!”

Girard turned and ran outside, shouting at his officers. Now chaos broke out, people moving and exclaiming, the word “lâche” repeated again and again. Alexander still held Briand down, shielding him with his body, but there were no more shots.

“Alright …,” he said quietly and got up, taking off his coat. The wounded man was whimpering and clutching his leg. Alexander pressed his coat against the wound, while Briand was talking to him, grabbing his arm – but Alexander could not understand him. “Just a flesh wound,” he said, “une blessure superficielle.”

Other people were coming up to them now. As Alexander looked up, he could make out Girard against the throng of people on the balcony, gesturing as another man was marched towards the door.

So this was it, Alexander thought as he was pushed back and two men took over, carefully helping the victim up. This was the grand plan. An assassination in plain sight, of ... Briand, most likely. Which would mean ... civil unrest, the government thrown into disarray.

He shuddered and let himself be swept out of the room by the mass of deputies that all moved outside, shouting at each other. He could see a group of people coming down the stairs, Girard gripping the arm of a man who seemed far too calm for this whole situation.

New cries went up and a few of the deputies around Alexander rushed forward towards the man, one of them hitting him before Girard or the officers could react.

It felt like ages, men shouting and fighting, but in fact it was not even a minute until the officers had cleared the space around the prisoner, Alexander assisting as best as he could. Girard was bristling with energy as they went towards the exit, giving rapid orders – to sweep the entire building, to hold people for questioning, to cordon off the area.

When they came to the front door, Dubois was running towards them. “What’s going on?”

“Commandant,” Alexander could hear the relief in Girard’s voice at his superior’s appearance. “We have just arrested this man on charge of attempted murder.”

“Just attempted?”

“Yes. Monsieur Waverly was quick on his feet and protected the Prime Minister. Another deputy, Monsieur Mirman, was shot in the leg.”

Dubois gave Alexander an appraising look. “And what’s the status?”

“We need to get the prisoner out of here. The mood is quite explosive. I already gave orders to search the building and to get the questioning starting, but we do need more men.”

Dubois nodded. “Good. Waverly and you can get the prisoner to headquarters, take my car. I will take over here – but send men as soon as possible. Has there been any sign of Victor Marton?”

“No,” Alexander spoke up. “Apart from his appearance at my hotel earlier where he gave the message to my fiancée.”

“We’ll discuss that later,” Dubois said. “Now, let’s get going – the work is just starting, after all.”

The prisoner handcuffed, they drove to the Deuxième Bureau, where they brought him to an interview room. They left him under heavy guard and Girard led the way to his office, where he spent a good ten minutes making several calls.

“Now, I think we are sorted,” he put down the receiver and bent down to open a drawer. Alexander, who had sat down, glad for the small moment of rest, watched him pull out a bottle of whisky and pour two glasses. He accepted one gratefully.

“To the end of this affair,” Girard said.

“The French Affair?” Alexander suggested. “The English Miner in Paris Affair. The Girls with the Pink Hair Affair. The Common Bird Affair.”

Girard chuckled. “I suppose you are looking forward to going home.”

“I suppose I do. But as the Commandant rightly said – the work is just beginning,” he drained his glass. “Let’s interview our man?”

“Let’s.”

The prisoner was surprisingly talkative, calmly giving them his name: Antoine Gizolme. He expressed regret at missing Briand and wounding Léon Mirman, since he hated only deputies. He did not tell them if he had any connection to Thrush or knew Victor and Morris. In fact, once they mentioned those names, he went quiet and refused to speak any more.

“He is obviously connected,” Alexander said when they were getting some fresh air for a few minutes. “We just have to get through to him.” Gizolme did not speak any English, so Alexander had mostly held himself back, watching his face and his reactions closely.

“And quickly. If he has information about the whereabouts of members of Thrush it is most likely very time-sensitive.”

Alexander nodded. “Then again, Victor gave me this information to act upon. It is hard to imagine that he did not prepare for the possibility that we would succeed.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not a chance I want to take,” Girard took another long drag of his cigarette. He had rolled up his sleeves and Alexander caught a glimpse of a black scrawl moving up his arm. “What I don’t understand is why he only gave this information to you so late. If he was against this plan, then he really took a gamble.”

“I think he has a taste for the dramatic,” Alexander said. “Besides, we do not know what went on behind the scenes. If there are any other key members of Thrush that we do not yet know about, who may have worked against him.”

Girard nodded. “That may be. And we will never know if we do not get through to Gizolme. I think I will call one of our experts. I hope you do not disapprove?”

Alexander shook his head.

The sun had already set when Dubois called them into his office and offered them a drink.  “The questioning is still ongoing, but so far there have been no suspicious persons,” he said. “The building is also clean.”

“So, we assume that Gizolme was working on his own on this, for now,” Girard said.

“Has he said anything?”

“Not much. He hates politicians – deputies,” Alexander said. “His goal was Briand. But he does not admit to knowing Thrush or our persons of interest.”

“And he came up with this plan on his own?”

“He would not say where he got his gun. It is one usually used by the British military, so ...”

“That’s quite a blunder,” Dubois downed his drink.

“It’s hard to imagine it is. It probably was intentional.”

There was a knock on the door and Dubois’s secretary came in, Margaret trailing behind her. Alexander got up, not able to hide his surprise.

“I have called Miss Hemingway to question her about Monsieur Marton,” Dubois had gotten up as well to greet Margaret. “If you gentlemen will wait outside, we won’t take long.”

“She doesn’t know,” Alexander said quietly. They had moved into the corridor to avoid the secretaries curious glances. “About Victor and me, I mean.”

“I did not think so,” Girard said. “Do not worry, the Commandant will keep this professional. He just wants to make sure we do not miss anything.”

“What about you?” Alexander asked. “Do you have …,” he nodded at Girard’s arm.

“I do, yes,” Girard offered a smile. “I do need to make some more calls, may I leave you for a bit?”

“Of course,” Alexander nodded.

A few minutes later he was called back into the office. Margaret smiled at him, kissing his cheek and then went outside.

“I have asked her to wait just a moment, you can take her back to your hotel once we are done,” Dubois said. “I only questioned her about Marton and her impression of him.”

Alexander had not sat down, nodding tightly.

“Do not worry, I have not told her anything about your affair.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Alexander breathed out slowly.

“Monsieur Marton seems to be quite enchanted by you,” Dubois said.

“I assure you, it is not my doing.”

“I know. Although it may be something to use in the future?”

“Victor knows who I work for. There is no way I could use our … affair to my advantage,” the words came easy and he was relieved to see that Dubois kept looking at him calmly. Girard had not told him about the true nature of his connection to Victor then.

“I have a feeling that we will have to be quite inventive when it comes to dismantling Thrush. Perhaps it’s something to keep in mind.”

Alexander nodded slowly.

Back at the hotel, they chose to have dinner in the restaurant and then retired to their room.

“I am sorry your birthday was such a mess,” Alexander said into the dark when they were in bed, Margaret in his arms.

“Well, the actions of a madman are hardly your fault. Do not worry about it. How long, do you think, until you can come home?”

“I do not know. We still have two subjects on the run and … there is a whole organisation we need to look into. But I hope soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events described in this chapter took - in part - place on the 17th of January 1911. Antoine Gizolme tried to assassinate Aristide Briand, at that time prime minister, at the National Assembly. I have taken details from Newspaper articles of the time (for example the laughter after the first shot) as well as [this page](https://www.france-pittoresque.com/spip.php?article3264), but also added them as the story needed it (for example the kind of gun Gizolme used). 
> 
> French phrases:  
> Attendez! Libérez cet homme! – Wait! Free this man!  
> Je suis touché! – I am shot!  
> lâche - coward  
> une blessure superficielle - a superficial injury


	13. 17. – 25.01.1911

He had slept perhaps for an hour or two before he woke up again, covered in sweat, staring wide-eyed into the darkness of the hotel room. The events of the day that during the evening he had so carefully not thought about came now crashing onto him. Quietly he sat up and careful not to wake Margaret got dressed. The bar of the hotel was still open and mostly empty. He ordered a whisky, and then stared at the ice slowly melting in his glass.

He could have died today. If one of those bullets had taken a different path, he could have died. Which meant he would not have seen Margaret again, or Victor. Not that he would see Victor again if he could help it. But to not even have the option …

He had faced his mortality before. He had fought in the army and had witnessed a shooting between the police and some smugglers as a little boy. Death was a part of his life, always a possibility. And while he had not hesitated to throw himself into the path of the bullets and to protect Briand, it now made his heart race and his palms sweat.

Suddenly a hand on his back and he did not look up into the mirror behind the bar, for a moment the thought so clear in his mind and heart that it was Victor. But then there were soft arms around his neck and Margaret’s lips against his cheek. “Come back to bed, Alex.”

He only nodded and followed her, the words on his left ankle weighing down his steps.

“Morris isn’t talking,” Girard greeted him when Alexander knocked on the door of his office in the Deuxième Bureau. “Or rather, he is. About card games and hunting and his memories of being in the army.”

“We weren’t able to get him to talk back in Britain as well. His loyalty to Moriarty extends death,” he took the seat Girard indicated, stretching his legs.

Girard nodded thoughtfully. “Were they soulmates?”

“I always thought so, but who knows?” Alexander shrugged. “What about Gizolme?”

“No change. But we got some more information about him. He was liberated from an asylum over a year ago, in which he was kept for threatening a consul in San Sebastian.”

“So, we think that due to his mental health he was receptive to Thrush’s whispers.”

“Yes. They used him.”

“And how could he get inside the Palais Bourbon with a gun?”

Girard leaned back, rubbing over his face. “We did have additional security measures in place after your warning. But apparently they weren’t enough. It is looked into. This whole incident also sparked another debate about gun safety, so maybe, in a twisted kind of way, this will have a positive effect.”

“So, how are we proceeding? Neither Morris nor Gizolme are talking about Thrush. Marton is on the run, as is possibly one other member from the group of British criminals. We also have to consider that Marton now got what he apparently wanted. Morris is taken care of, so he is left to form Thrush into whatever he intends.”

“Which is a chilling thought. I do have some thoughts on the matter, as does Commandant Dubois. For the moment we are still busy with yesterdays debacle. But tomorrow we would like to have a meeting with you to discuss potential measures and strategies. Our government would appreciate working on this with yours.”

“As would mine. Then I will gather my thoughts and confer with my superiors to prepare for tomorrow. I would also like to remind you that we are very keen to transfer Morris to London.”

“We are aware. Say, would you like to go for dinner this evening? There is a lovely restaurant not far from here that my husband and I like to visit. We would appreciate your fiancée’s and your company.”

“Thank you. That sounds like a fine plan,” Alexander returned Girard’s smile.

He spent the day on the phone to London, organising and planning. As soon as he would be back in London he was promised the opportunity to look at all the paperwork on Moriarty. Hopefully that would shed some more light on Morris and any structures he could have used for Thrush – and maybe reveal connections that Victor was relying on now. Maybe he’d even have the chance to talk to Mister Holmes or Mister Watson himself – at least Captain Kell promised to reach out to them.

On his way back to the hotel to pick up Margaret he took a different route than usual, leaving an envelope behind a statue in an empty church. He was sure his contact would appreciate the stereotype.

The restaurant was simple, down to earth. Girard and a tall, dark man were already sitting at a table.

“This is my husband, Aimé,” Girard introduced him. “And these are Monsieur Waverly and his fiancée, Mademoiselle Hemingway.”

“Please, my name is Margaret. And this is Alexander.”

“It’s a pleasure,” they shook hands and sat down, Girard recommending the wine and dishes.

“How long are you staying, Margaret?”

“I’ll have to leave Saturday evening. I was hoping Alexander could accompany me, but he needs to stay a bit longer.”

“Did you explore Paris a bit?” Aimé asked.

“I went for a lot of walks,” she smiled. “But I still haven’t seen the Louvre.”

“Then let me take you tomorrow. From the little Rémi told me, our men will be busy the next few days.”

Margaret glanced at Alexander and then nodded, her smile getting bigger. “I would love that.”

“And since I am a curator there, I can show you around.”

“Oh, how exiting,” she clapped her hands. “I once worked for the National Gallery, I loved it there.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a secretary and I do some writing on the side. I enjoy being busy.”

Alexander leaned back and followed their conversation, only from time to time offering a comment. He felt tired, but the friendly, relaxed atmosphere was like balm on his soul. The food was delicious, as was the wine. If only … he caught himself and reached out under the table to put his hand on Margaret’s leg. He would not wish for Victor. Everything he needed was right within his grasp.

They called it an early night, since they would meet at the Deuxième Bureau in the morning. Alexander actually slept well, aided by the wine and Margaret’s embrace, so he felt rested and prepared for their meeting.

Dubois and Girard were already seated at a round table when he was shown into the conference room. He took the seat opposite after greeting them. Dubois grabbed the side of the table and pushed – the outer edge rotated towards Alexander. In front of him was now a heavy envelope, his name written on it in cursive.

“This is from President Briand. His secretary brought it by this morning. The president sends his warmest greetings and apologies that he cannot come by in person.”

“That is very kind,” Alexander opened the envelope carefully. Inside were two tickets for the Opéra-Comique for the next evening.

“They are doing Bloch’s Macbeth. The President has a box and invites you and Mademoiselle Hemingway to join him for the evening,” Dubois beamed at him. “It is a great honour and one that is well deserved.”

“I’m sure Margaret will be over the moon,” Alexander slipped the tickets into his jacket. “As am I, of course.”

“Wonderful,” Dubois said. “Well, let’s get down to business, shall we? Girard, any updates?”

“No. Our prisoners still aren’t talking. But we worked out a preliminary plan ...”

The rest of the day passed with intense work. The biggest challenge would be to coordinate across the Channel. Alexander suggested to exchange officers, already knowing that due to Margaret he would not be able to take the post in Paris. When he left the building in the late evening he actually felt confident that they would be able to tackle Thrush.

Margaret was vibrant when they went for dinner, telling him about the Louvre and the paintings. Aimé had taken her into the cellars as well and apparently they would go again the next day.

“It’s very kind of him to take the time,” Alexander commented.

“Indeed,” Margaret nodded. “I suppose he knows how it is to be with someone who works in your line of work.”

“Indeed,” Alexander echoed. He felt a stab of anger – not because she had enjoyed her time with another person, but because she wasn’t happy about his amount of work. They would have to figure that out in the long-term. He was not willing to cut back and with Thrush his workload would only increase in the future.

Friday he spent mostly at the embassy, setting up the measures for Morris’s transport to London which was to take place the next week. He went to the hotel in the early evening to change into his new suit and to pick up Margaret.

They arrived in time at the Opéra-Comique, a footman showing them to Briand’s box. The Prime Minister was already there, talking to some other people, but instantly came to Alexander and embraced him. He thanked him profoundly and complimented Margaret.

“I hope you will enjoy tonight,” he pointed at the stage. “It is an exquisite performance.”

“I have always loved the opera, as has Margaret. Thank you, we are very grateful for the invitation.”

“Please, sit and have some champagne.”

They took the indicated chairs and settled back. Alexander had always liked Macbeth best of all of Shakespeare’s plays and after the last couple of weeks he felt the story even more deeply – a powerful reminder of just how bad soulmates could be for each other.

Margaret and Alexander spent Saturday sleeping in. They had a late breakfast and then went for an afternoon meal. Aimé joined them, and after a few pleasant hours it was time for Margaret to pack up the rest of her things. Alexander took her to the station, where they had some coffee before the train would leave.

“It wasn’t quite what I imagined,” Margaret said. “But I’m glad we are alright.”

“So am I,” Alexander said. “And I’ll be in London next week, if all goes to plan.”

“I cannot wait. And Ernest will be exited to see you again.”

Alexander bent over the table and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for coming. It was really good to have you here.”

He hardly noticed his last couple of days in Paris passing, immersed in his work. The transport of Morris was planned for Wednesday. They had organised train wagons and plain-clothed officers. The train would also carry a unit of soldiers, consisting of French and British personnel. Dubois would accompany them to London and stay for a few days to talk about setting up the task force that had been agreed upon. On Monday they got a message about the arrest of a British criminal from Berlin. It seemed the last member of the group that had come to Paris over a month ago had been caught.

Alexander should be getting back to his hotel to pack and get some decent sleep before they would leave early the next morning, but instead he found himself in a different district, taking the stairs up to Victor’s apartment. He knew that it was still under observation and had been vacated since Victor’s arrest. He opened the door with a picklock and switched on the light. The hallway was empty, but for a moment he expected Victor to come out of the library, a big smile on his face. Of course nothing happened. He slowly walked down the corridor, glancing into the rooms to either side. The air felt sticky and when he arrived in the parlour at the end of the hallway, he opened one of the windows, taking a deep breath. He was not sure what he was doing here. It was just an apartment, empty and meaningless. And still … he had been happy here for a couple of days, had felt at home and known. He did a few dance steps on the carpet and then looked around self-consciously, feeling suddenly ridiculous. That’s when he noted that he record player was missing. Perhaps a police officer had taken it, or it had been put into evidence.

He went into the bedroom next and stopped in the door when he saw a white envelope on the pillow of the right side of the bed on which he had slept for those few nights. Approaching slowly he felt his heart beating fast and his palms sweating. He opened it and slipped out the white card.

_My studies are not yet done, but I already know I won’t be disappointed._

– _V_

Alexander looked around wildly, noting that Victor’s favourite dressing gown was not hanging in it’s usual place. In the library he found a whole row of scientific journals missing, as well as Victor’s ties and monogrammed cufflinks.

He left the apartment in a hurry, not exactly sure what he was running from. When he crossed the Seine, he let the note fall down into the dark water.

A day later he felt overjoyed to finally take Margaret into his arms. The transport had gone smoothly and he had the rest of the week off, which Margaret and he intended to spend in the countryside. He was ready to leave Paris – and everything that had happened – behind.

**29.12.1911**

“Ah, Waverly, glad I’m catching you before the day is over,” Captain Kell stopped Alexander outside of his office. “Have you talked to your wife?”

“Yes, I have. She is not exactly thrilled, but agreed to try for a year. If she doesn’t like New York, we’ll just have to come back.”

“That sounds fair. I’ll be sorry to see you go, but this is a step we have to take. Thrush establishing itself in the US is too much of a threat for the world. And we are really lucky the Americans are asking to join our task force.”

“I know, Sir. I’m glad to be of service in the matter.”

“Although, it seems your first job will be to come up with a name. The general I talked to was quite upset that we didn’t have a, what he called, proper one.”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Everything to keep our new friends happy, right?”

“Indeed. You are to take the records of the Morris interviews as well.”

“The originals? Because they already got our transcripts.”

“Yes. I’m not thrilled either, but we do have copies. And to study Morris is a brilliant opportunity for every officer of the law. I still cannot believe we got him to talk … Oh, and there have been some upsetting news from Paris. You remember Commandant Dubois and Sous-lieutenant Girard?”

“Yes, of course. Though I haven’t heard from them since they were put on another assignment.”

Kell reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “They have been killed in an automotive accident this morning.”

Alexander swallowed hard, not able to reply.

“I’m sorry. I know you enjoyed working with them.”

An officer approached and signalled Kell, who nodded at Alexander. “I will talk to you later. There is a lot to organise before you can leave for New York.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Alexander felt as if walking through a thick fog as he entered his office and sat down on his desk. He had been nearly ready to go home, only the stack of afternoon letters waiting for him. He automatically grabbed the first one, not understanding what he read. When he opened the third letter he blinked and shook his head to clear it – the handwriting was startlingly familiar.

_A present on our first anniversary – I trust you remember the day we met? They remembered it as well … Looking forward to seeing you in the New World!_

– _V_

Alexander crumpled up the paper. Of course he remembered. That sudden urge of desire when he had first laid eyes on Victor, their first conversation … but what present? Surely, Victor could not mean the accident? Besides, neither Girard nor Dubois had been at that party. They had not known when he had met Victor. They had known about their connection, of course, especially Girard, but … He let out a strained breath. Had Victor killed them to take care of the two people who knew of their connection? It had always sat in the back of his mind. He had been grateful that as far as he knew neither Girard nor Dubois had reported the matter and their death was too high a price for the security it bought.

It was the first message he had gotten from Victor since that last note he had thrown into the Seine – and this one he lit with his lighter and watched fall to ashes in his trash can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story. Writing it has been a great joy and learning experience for me; and I'm happy if I can share some of that joy with you. ♥  
> As I mentioned, this story is the prequel of a RP. Just know that in this RP, Victor has managed to corrupt Alexander, who in turn has corrupted UNCLE ... it is as of yet undetermined if Illya and Napoleon will be able to beat them.  
> On a side note: Take care and stay safe and healthy!


End file.
